


Spiraling

by erintoknow



Series: Aria [30]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Eating Disorders, Emetophobia, F/F, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Self-Harm, Sex, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Therapy, Trans Character, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 64
Words: 151,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22991266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: Years of planning have come to a fruition in the course of mere hours. Your destruction of the exhibits at the Heroic Heritage Museum coupled with the crushing defeat of the Los Diablos Rangers should cement your new place among the rogues gallery of Los Diablos.An out-of-nowhere victory that has come as much of a surprise to yourself as it has to anyone else. You're still alive, still here.So... Now what?
Relationships: Ortega/Sidestep (Fallen Hero)
Series: Aria [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1399939
Comments: 122
Kudos: 69





	1. Spiraling

* * *

Years of planning have come to a fruition in the course of mere hours.

Your destruction of the exhibits at the Heroic Heritage Museum coupled with the crushing defeat of the Los Diablos Rangers should cement your new place among the rogues gallery of Los Diablos.

  
An out-of-nowhere victory that has come as much of a surprise to yourself as it has to anyone else. You're still alive, still here.

  
So... Now what?

[ Spotify Playlist ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2teB8mbKuhiKf45vNypY1X?si=CNWLcpA7SyuTW3Hh_8D0dQ)

[ Youtube Playlist ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL1zGCXjZDs9rwBigvprZCzBpbvcRjfXzA)

TW: death, suicide, suicidal thoughts, past sexual abuse, self harm, emetophobia, disordered eating

* * *


	2. The Long-Runout

salt water blood, your memory ocean

it remains, as always

eddies on the surface

in the end you are only skin

deep carved

by winds greater than

yourself – hologram daughter, wanting

a trail of memories

like little flags

waving behind

so you can grab them,

hold on a little longer – but they

always slip through

like they were

never here

there was a feeling in the blur

at the edge of your vision,

that you couldn’t

shake

turning in circles trying

to catch the edge of a camera

coming apart in trace minerals and unzipped genes,

an erosion that builds up on everything you touch,

naturally quiet, in warming water

and so: you fall to pieces,

quite naturally

more detritus in gulf stream water

a spreading out but not in,

protected by 

a hand that against skin

slips

into a hydrology of fire

radiating in

slow diffusion of self

you write yourself in sea foam

while your bones demineralize

a chorus starved will turn against herself

consumes its own music in a desperate bid to stay alive

it takes work to keep the keys clean of you

a body when, stressed into forgetting unity of purpose – ancient bond

individual survival was never possible, never desirable

the change comes in pinpricks

little nicks in stone that appear to affect nothing

until the cliffside gives away

and you’re riding the long-runout

caught between silence above – disaster below

clinging on to see where things settle down

Faces you wear and no one else sees the picture from the next level up, how none of it fits because you’re never more yourself than when you’re not yourself. Just another salt water eddy caught along a wind coming off the shore. 

you’re afraid of what kind of affirmation you’d seek.

could you trust yourself

not to think about

a just world?


	3. this is nothing new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Becoming a villain has only amplified your problems rather than solved them. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: death
> 
> [ [Same Old Blues] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3aQ2InB4rhU)

#  [A little victimless crime](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3kyB5Dprh3XJ9L5tEOuIQX?si=4bof4kzYQveAHmIHW-_gOQ)

## this is nothing new

You wake with a scream, tumbling off the couch, cracking your head against the edge of the coffee table with a ‘Thump!’ on your way down. Flashes of green before your eyes. Distantly aware of your heart pounding in your chest.

“Alex? _Lord_ , Alex, are you okay?” The light flickers on as woman steps out of the bedroom, one hand shading her eyes as she winces against the light. Brushing back dirty blond hair, Chelsea tsks as she navigates the pile of clothes and library books that mark the corner of the apartment you’ve taken over.

Clutching your head, you pull yourself in. Try to make yourself as small as you can. Something… remembered something but what? It’s already gone. Doesn’t feel real, none of this does – already slipping out of your grasp, faster as you try to take hold. Why is Chelsea in Ortega’s apartment? Red and silver threads, something at your throat.

Hands find you and you strike out. Someone yells, “Ow!” the noise unheeded as panic renews; why did you do that? What are you thinking? You’re really in for it now – should know better. How many times do the same lessons need to be learned?

“Alex, Alex, it’s okay.” You tense, can feel the intention to touch incoming but it doesn’t – no hands come near you. “You’re safe. I promise you.” Notes of worry, directed towards – not you, can’t be you, has to be something else.

It’s a lie. One they love to tell. You’ll never be safe.

Have to… have to get out of here. Have to do something. Have to move. Get out. Escape. But there are hands, holding you down under white fluorescent lights, burning spots into your vision that cast of the crowd of onlookers in silhouette. Something is strapped over your head, while she looks down at you. Disappointment naked on her face, speaking with another woman’s voice. “Next time, I expect _results_ forty-two.”

It’s the strobing flashes of red and blue that pull you out of it – a shot of adrenaline sets your hands shaking as you pull yourself out of the position you’d fallen into, laying half out of your bed.

You’re not back _there_ , and you aren’t anywhere but here. Not Ortega’s, not Chelsea’s, not – not there. You’re in your own place. You have one of those now. An apartment. Remember?

Maybe not for long. Police lights? You clutch a hand to your aching head as you stretch out your awareness, take stock of the local minds, pick up the interlopers. Police. And… EMTs? Why? Dig deeper and your hands twist the bed sheet. Death. Someone’s dead. Footsteps in the hallway and nausea washes over you. It takes the sheer desperation of not wanting to spend a day cleaning out bedsheets, _yet again_ , to tamper it down. Clothes stick to your skin in a cold sweat.

The apartment next door. On the left. Young man, lived with his girlfriend – her thoughts stand out, a barbed wire coil of grief. Was paying child support. Managed a convenience store. Didn’t smoke. Didn’t drink. Now he’s dead.

How? Why?

Try to press harder for the details only to immediately snap back. Shouldn’t have asked. Shouldn’t have wondered. You’ve never been good at learning that lesson, no matter how many times, you come to regret it.

Holding into the bedside table for balance, you push yourself up, vision briefly blacking out before filling back in as you stand. Give yourself a moment to adjust. To think.

The door. Check the door.

Navigating the gloom you step around the traps and check the door lock, the chain, bolt, and bar. Everything is in place. You’re still safe. Moving to the window you check that next. Shatter-resistant glass, threaded with a steel wire reinforcement. Not much for looking, but no one’s getting through it any time soon. Not without making a lot of noise.

You brush your mind against the police again. No thoughts to you. Or your apartment.

You’re not in any immediate danger.

Stomach prods you with pangs of pain. What time is it? Too early to be awake. It’s – it’s absurd, right? To think it’s your fault. His death. You weren’t even awake to _do anything_. 

Wait–

Shit!

Jane! You were Jane and you were doing something – what? What were you doing? 

* * *

“Are you sure you are alright to be out today, mon amie?” Dr. Mortum eyes Jane worriedly from the other end of the booth, fiddling with the glass of sherry in her hands. New glasses? The gold of her frames stands out against the dark tone of her skin.

“Doc, please.” Jane sighs, slumping back in her chair. No fancy looks today. Whatever is going on between Jane and Dr. Mortum now, _that_ particular game is over. Your puppet, your mirror image, is wearing slacks and a cardigan. Plain and unfashionable. But you don’t need her to perform today. Not like that. Faded bruises still peeking out from under her shirt collar. Memory of stiffness. “It’s been weeks, I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.” The good doctor takes a sip of her drink, one hand on the table between them. Her expression grows darker, and Jane leans in too. Nerves on edge. “So it looks like your employer made quite the splash.”

“All thanks to your hard work.”

Mortum’s expression only darkens. Her eyes darting towards the side, down at Jane’s wrist. Eyes tracing something. Jane shifts her hand away, under the table. “I suppose there is a truth to that.” She sighs, looks up again to catch Jane’s eyes. “Have you… thought any more, about what I said?”

Oh. This again. Dr. Mortum’s always been happy to just take the money without questions before. Where is this sudden attack of conscience coming from? 

“I can handle myself.” Jane’s smile gains an edge. “As I’m sure you remember.”

Mortum’s smile is polite, but her eyes betray amusement. “In vivid technicolor, mon amie.”

“Hah.” Jane snickers, “Don’t be such a nerd.”

Mortum keeps smiling. “Ah, but you recognized the reference. So who is the bigger nerd here?”

“Smart-ass.”

* * *

Can’t remember past that. But you just woke up so… you fell asleep, clearly. Did you fall asleep as Jane? Biting your lip you force yourself to lay down in bed, sheets still hanging half off. Close your eyes. Have to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.

Finding Jane is getting easier and easier these days. Like there’s a cord strung between you – follow the thread and you’ll find her at the end of it.

Sink in, and it’s always touch that comes first, after that everything else fills from the outside in. As if you’re water pouring into an empty vessel. Jane sits up, blinking with bleary eyes. Only the briefest sense of vertigo before her stomach settles.

The dull soreness of healing bruises floats into awareness. It’s dark, with warm fabric drawn over her lower body… She’s home at her apartment. Safe. Everything’s fine. You worried for nothing. Jane glances at the alarm clock. 4 AM. Now that the possibility of danger is brushed aside, you’re free to be frustrated at this whole situation.

Nothing for it now. You’re not going back to sleep if you can help it. Jane’s hand finds her cellphone, checking for any messages. Nothing new; just her last exchange with Ortega, asking about when they can meet up again.

Just thinking about it is enough to make Jane smile, a lightness in her chest, even as it leaves a bitter sting in your heart. Jane is dating Ortega. Not you. That’s the way things have to be. It’s for the best. For everyone.

Ortega…

She hasn’t even been released from the hospital yet and already she’s raring to get back into the thick of things. The fool idiot never knows when to slow down. Or when to quit. She’s taking the Ranger’s defeat at your debut more personally than you had anticipated.

Honestly, you went into that night fully expecting Ortega to kill you, instead she just… slowed you down at best. A wave breaking itself against a boulder, shattering to pieces. She’s losing her touch in her middle age. She’s only to get herself hurt even worse next time. Maybe you can get Jane to talk some sense into her? Just… at least slow down for a little bit? Take better care of herself.

Somehow has to do it.

It sure isn’t going to be you.

Can still see it in your head… standing in the floodlights, a bruised and bleeding Ortega laying prone below you…

Fuck.

fucking hell

piss

Jane staggers, fighting down the wave of revulsion, swallows the bile in the back of her throat. Shit. She’s usually better insulated from your attacks then that.

Well… don’t think you’re getting back to bed any time soon. If you’re going to be up this early you might as well do something productive with all that time.

* * *

“So now, _I’m_ the one stuck sorting out this mess.” Spinning stories about how terrible your villain alter ego is as a boss has fast become your favorite way to bond with people as Jane. There’s something liberating in being able to just go to town on her and have people actually nod in agreement.

Jane sighs, staring down at the water bottle in her hand, sloshing the contents in a slow circle. “Honestly, it’s not my fault the last deal fell through like that.” She tugs at her jacket. Should enjoy the chill while you can. Once the sun’s up, the summer heat will be back in full force.

Jane’s companion, a latina woman who has clearly never skipped leg _or_ arm day, takes a long drag from her cigarette, her back to Jane, against the tree. The two of them have stepped off the park path for privacy.

Honestly didn’t expect Rosie to answer Jane’s call. There’s been less and less time to be able to shoot the shit with her lately. A trend you expect to continue.

Even now Jane is technically doing business. Managing your villain career, building loyalty. But Rosie has been Jane’s oldest friend – or as close to it as she can have, and you’re finding it harder for Jane to let go of her than you’d expected.

“Sounds like a capital-class serving of BS to me, yeah.” Rosie stares off into the open field, chewing on thoughts your puppet isn’t privy to. “You tried looking into some of those old buildings up in the industrial park?”

Jane blinks, staring up at the tree branches above them both. “The… industrial park, huh. Hrm.” 

“Yeah, like, I know you’re hoping to get somewhere more, like, central and shit, but there’s a lot of places that cleared out when the smog started getting bad. Bet you two-to-one you can find somewhere real cheap up that way.” She goes quiet then suddenly breaks into laughter. “And hey! That boss of yours is so paranoid anyway, right? Should be happy he gets somewhere no one in their right mind is going to go.”

Jane doesn’t respond right away. It could work. A cheaper asking price means more money free to invest back into gadgets, supplies, bribes. “Yeah, okay.” Jane “I’ll give it a look around. Thanks for the tip.”

Rosie winks, thumbs up. “Hey Janey, what are friends for?”

Jane finds herself returning the thumbs up. “Nothing legal, apparently.” That gets the barking laugh you were hoping for. Rosie slaps her leg. Jane clears her throat, gives Rosie a chance to compose herself. “Speaking of friends… You ready for another job yet?”

“You know me, I can always use more sin money.” She shuffles out another cigarette from her pack, eyes shifting between Jane and the lighter. “So… suppose I am. What'd ya got?”

Jane smiles. “I think you’ll find this one interesting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Wake Up Dead] ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22213696)


	4. murder lives forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is who you are now. Better get to work.   
>  Tw: death, self-harm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Savages] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxaTAFXgykU)

## murder lives forever

“Rosie – position?”

Her voice crackles over the helmet radio, “Yeah, I’ve got clear sights.” Can hear the little hesitation of held breath.

Wait for it.

“You sure about this, Ghost?” She’s already switched to your new moniker, you note. Say what you will about Rosie; the woman is a professional. After tonight the rest of the city will know to mark ‘Puppetmaster’ as out of date.

“It’s – it’s not like you’re going to kill him. Just… flush the game if I give the signal.”

“...right. Okay, you’re the boss, boss.”

“Don’t forget it.”

Tucking your chin down you drop over the edge of the roof you’ve been hiding on. Jet boosters cushion your fall to a light landing. Fastening your cape close around you, you make a difficult figure to spot in the gloom. An impossibly dark shape blending into the larger shadow. Lou Marconi is a career bureaucrat who’s had a job working for the city for almost as long as it’s been called ‘Los Diablos.’ Long-lived and well-paid to be able to afford living in his own private mansion up on celebrity row.

This part of town, houses are further apart and street lighting is reduced. There’s a cool satisfaction to be had in how Marconi’s eagerness to flaunt his wealth only makes it easier for you to infiltrate. A brick wall delineates the edge of the lot. About as tall as you are.

It’s like he’s not even trying to keep you out.

A scramble over the top and you drop into a row of bushes. Tap the side of your helmet to switch into low-light vision. One of Mortum’s handy little programs starts tagging likely laser detectors. Under everything the pulsing thrum of a telepathic dampener blankets the minds in the building.

That’s your first target. With the Rat-King buffering you against the worst of it, you pull a song tight against your head – keep focused. Push forward to where the psychic chaff is the loudest. If you’re lucky, it’ll be a security station for the whole complex. Make your job easier.

So many shadows, so many nooks and crannies for you to stick to as you move along the perimeter of the building. It’s an open secret that Marconi makes his living as one of Los Diablos’s most bribable officials. If you’re going to reshape the city’s politics then the knowledge in his balding, wrinkled head is going to be invaluable.

Breaking into locked city hall safes, or cracking encrypted files is risky and time consuming. So you’ll break into his mind instead. He’s been avoiding public functions for a while now – paranoid little sleazeball. It’s like he thinks someone’s after him or something.

As you get closer to the dampener the pounding in your head intensifies. Can feel it in your teeth. A pressure pushing down, or something like the hiss of a CRT screen, a hissing pain that pierces through your skull with all the precision of a mortar round. Stripping away everything.

The Rat-King chitters in irritation. Sorry guys, we’re almost through this part, you promise. A small security station, wooden walls, windows. Hah. You were worried it would be inside the main building. But this? Marconi may have been around a few blocks but it’s clearly made him arrogant more than it has anything else.

Quick check up and down the walkway, no incoming patrols. Gritting your teeth you slide inside, stepping over the laser detect across the threshold. Inside, a bank of monitor screens takes up one wall while a bored looking man in a blue guard outfit reclines in a chair with his back to the door, feet up on the desk. There in the corner, the stainless steel tube about as thick as your torso rises from floor to ceiling. Take that out and you can finally breathe.

But first the guard.

He doesn’t even register you behind him until you’ve got your arm around his neck, crushing his windpipe. Your other hand claps over his mouth. He tries to pull free, slip out, fight back. But you’re the one in control here.

Finally the man goes limp and you let go. Immediately you get to work examining the control board. Dampeners consume a lot of electricity. You doubt they keep it live all the time, so…. There, the dail. Turn it down and the oppressive weight on your head easies up and fades away. It’s like standing up in the open desert after a week in confinement. Laughing you stretch out your awareness, casting wide and mentally tagging the notes of the guards patrolling the building. And… there’s Marconi in the dining hall, with some guests and… is that?

You sigh. So much for joy. Well, he’s the sole Ranger you haven’t fought yet. Suppose it was time.

Before you leave, you press your left hand to the dampener. The nanovores don’t need much coaxing to reduce the damn thing to dust. You’ll take no chances tonight.

As for the guard… He’ll wake up soon on his own. Raise the alarm. Grabbing his mind, currently placid in unconsciousness, you drag it down deeper, wrap it in a dream. On a whim you coax it to be something nice. Ice cream with his daughters.

There.

That should at least buy you time until the next check in.

Dining Hall is towards the back. You’ll swing around, wait for the bastard to go to the bathroom and snag him on the way back. If it goes well, you won’t even be noticed.

It’s not going to happen like that, but you can hope.

Sure enough, Rosie cuts in on the radio. “Uh, hey, Boss?”

“What?”

“I’m seeing some weird movement.”

“Police?” Was there a tip-off? Who? How? You didn’t even tell Rosie the actual mission until this evening.

“No, I don’t know what. It’s just… bad vibes, man.”

You grit your teeth. ‘Bad vibes’ huh. Well, you only have yourself to blame for encouraging Rosie to be candid. “I’ll take it under advisement. Keep your eyes on the roof.”

“Roger.”

The voice in your ear goes silent again. You hang at the corner. So far, you’ve stuck between the pair of patrols circling the grounds. Not much time left until someone discovers your work at the security station. Marconi is on the other side of those windows. Just his bodyguard with him still…

Fuck it.

Ducking your head down you break into a run, jumping over the hedge and crashing through the window. Alarms immediately start blaring as people start screaming. The Rat-King pulls your attention and you throw yourself down to the ground. Something flies over your head and explodes in a burst of light and sound outside.

As you get to your feet, you find yourself face-to-face with the bodyguard. “Marshal Steel.” You grit your teeth. “Playing private bodyguard?” Not even the inflexible Wei Chen is above making money on the side you guess. Disappointing.

Chen watches you, hands at the ready, a shoulder-mounted mini-missile system attached to his power armor. Great. “I can’t say I care what you think of me, Puppetmaster.”

“It’s Ghost.” You do your best sneer with a mirrored helmet. “Try to keep up, Marshal.” This is your only second time out, and first time using the name, but he doesn’t need to know that. Let them sweat a little.

“I’d heard the rumors, but you disappoint me, _Puppetmaster_.”

Rumors? So there was a tip-off. Who squealed?

You shake your head. Stay focused. Stay in control. “Just going to ask our friend here some questions. That’s all.”

Marconi bristles at that, presses himself back against the dining table, a half-eaten roll of bread in one hand. His face is bright red as he raises his voice “What are you doing!? Protect me!”

Chen frowns, a note of irritation spiking across his mind. What’s the matter Chen? Don’t like taking orders? He plants his feet, and you tense up, waiting for the missile you’ll have to dodge.

“No!” Marconi shouts, “Don’t blow up my house you idiot!”

“My orders are only to keep you safe.” Catch the briefest glimpse of a smile on Chens face as another rocket goes flying your way. You throw yourself sideways, crashing through the dinner table, the wood snapping in half under the sudden weight of your suit. Your helmet flashes black in response to the burst of light, ears ringing. Stun bombs? What is with these assholes and treating you with kids gloves? You’d think at least Chen would be willing to go for the kill.

Noise – people talking you can’t make out while your ears keep ringing. But, fuck. Marconi’s running. The roof. He’s going to the roof.

You grin.

Great.

You’d give Rosie a head’s up, but the fist coming down on your torso takes priority. You roll out of the way, scramble to your feet. Shake your head, think the ringing is calming down. “Alright. Fine.” You raise your fists. “Only fair I treat the Marshal too.”

“Hrm.” Chen frowns, staring at you. What’s he looking at? Seeing something – fuck – You push off, taking a swing at him. Force him to focus on the fight. He staggers backward. Gets his bearings and then swings his arm around at an unnatural angle. A plated fist catches you in the throat, knocking you to the floor.

Coughing, you sputter, pushing yourself backwards to put space between the two of you as you catch your breath. Damn, when could he extend his arm like that? The Marshal has some new tricks.

“So you’re just another contract killer after all.”

You dodge his fist as you get up, duck under his arm as you get behind him. “What are–” You cut yourself off, hiss, “Don’t think y–you can distract me. I know your tricks, Chen.”

He twists around as you dodge around him, “Do you?.”

Oh fucking goddamnit.

You grit your teeth. This. This is why you should just keep fucking quiet on operations. Don’t get mouthy, you idiot. The two of you trade blows as you dance around each other. This is not good. Not a good match up at all. You’re fast enough that Chen can’t really touch you save for the occasional lucky hit. But are any of your blows getting through that armor? He’s showing no signs of slowing down. You need to disengage. Grab Marconi before he gets away.

The Nanovores? Could they crack the armor? But what if they…? Steel is your enemy. Killing him is part of the end-game. Taking him out shouldn’t be sending your stomach into knots. Why did you even get these damn things if you weren’t going to use them?

Fuck it.

Gritting your teeth you catch his arm with your left hand. Start to coax the Nanovores to life and –

An explosion shakes the building, the chandelier above you both jostling in a chime of clattering glass.

You let go, jumping back. Heart in your throat.

Chen doesn’t press the advantage, glaring at you. “What did you do.”

“I didn’t do anything!” You raise your hands. Under your breath you activate the radio, “Rosie?”

“Boss! Something on the roof just went–”

“I know!” You hiss.

Chen narrows his eyes. “Who are you talking to–”

“Shut up!” You hold up a hand, tuck in your chin, not taking your eyes off Chen. “Keep an eye on the fucking roof. Don’t let him leave.” You jump backwards out of the way of Chen’s fist. “Goddamnit Chen, I’m not here to f–f–fucking kill anybody!”

“Then who set off that bomb, Ghost?”

“I don’t fucking know!” You grit your teeth. Fire is spreading through the building. Was it a bomb or a missile? Which would be better? And then there’s… “Shit.” You look away from Chen, run through the map in your head. “There’s people trapped.”

“What?” Chen tenses up, staring you down. “How do you know?”

“Don’t act stupid.” You snap back. “I know you know I’m a telepath.” You move towards the far end of the hall. “We need to get them out of here.” You put your hand against the wall, frown, glance back at Chen. “Don’t just f–fucking stand there, you idiot. Use your plasma cutter. Help me get through this wall.”

Chen frowns. Some sort of internal debate. Then he nods and follows you. “Roger.”

Fuck, this isn’t going to help you at all. It’s too like the days you and Chen worked emergency relief. But– “Why are you doing this?” Chen cuts through the wall, kicking it down.

“W–what?” You take stock of the other side. Looks like some kind of guestroom? Still not far enough.

“You could have left this to me. It’s not your problem.” Chen follows your direction to the next wall you indicate with a tap of your hand.

“Don’t be stupid. I’m – I’m not a killer.”

Things would be so much easier if you were.

“Still.” Chen grunts, knocking down the weakened square of wall. “Not killing and actively saving are two different things.”

“S–shut up.” You hiss.

Now here’s a room with some damage. One wall is gone, open to the outside air as flames lick the edges, spreading across the ground and burning the furniture. There’s a hole in the floor where part of the basement roof caved in. With a hand gesture you take the lead, hopping down first into the cellar.

Some kind of storage room. More collapsed ceiling blocks the way out. Two panicking employees freeze in their efforts to dig their way out, looking up at you with dread. Ah shit.

Catch sight of a woman trapped under a toppled shelving unit at the far end. Ignoring the two men you push through the rubble towards her. Can hear the ‘thud’ of Chen following you down. Clearing out the rubble.

A broken gas pipe catches your attention and you divert to twist it closed at the nearest valve. Would be just your luck if there’s still enough gas to blow the room up when the flames get here.

Back to the woman. Grit your teeth as you strain to lift the shelf. Chen catches up with you and you jerk your head towards the woman, unconscious against the ground. “Get – get her out of here.”

Chen bends down, cradles her between his arms. As soon as he’s clear you let the shelf drop with a gasp of relief. Jesus. Those exercises are paying off. You shoo him away, as you catch your breath. “Go, idiot!”

He hesitates. Face unreadable. “Be careful.”

“Y–yeah whatever, just go!” You sag backwards as Chen finally turns, shielding his charge under his body as he shoulders through the collapsing rubble.

If you were smart you’d make your own exit now.

You aren’t smart.

Race to the hole up. Boost-jet jump back to the ground floor. The room is fully ablaze now. A second explosion rocks the building, sending you scrambling to keep your balance as you race through the hallway. Rosie’s voice crackles back over the static. “Holy shit, you alive down there?”

“I’m fine. Report.”

Rosie’s voice is frantic, speech rushed. “Guy was gonna fly out. I scared him into cover, then his damn chopper blew up.”

“Shit. Is he still alive?” You stretch out your awareness, canvas the dozen panicking minds fleeing the building.

“I don’t know! I can’t see anything in the smoke.”

“You did your job.” You job up the stairwell, run down the hallway to the roof access. “Pull out. Wait at the rendezvous.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. Every damn cop in the city is going to be on you any second.”

“Consider me appraised.” You cut the connection, up another round of steps and then – oh. A chunk of the building has already collapsed. Well fuck. That’s not a good sign. Gritting your teeth you peer through the smoke and flame, try to appraise a chunk of roof that’s still stable. There!

A running jump with boosters flaring puts your hands just in range to grab the edge. Smoldering wood creaks under your weight as you swing in the open air. Arms scream complaints as you pull yourself up. Wheeze for breath once you’re on your feet. Shit. Not in total shape just yet you guess.

Firelight coats the ruins of the roof in a dozen criss-crossing shadows. Chunks of scattered metal litter the ground. You foot catches on something and you glance down. Dead body. Kick it over, and it looks like a guard. Blue uniform. Damn. Dead for an asshole like this? Not worth it.

Speaking of which…

There! The Rat-King directs your attention. Weak, stunned thoughts. You race across the roof to find a prone Lou Marconi on the ground. Blood gushes out of his nose. Broken? But still alive. That’s all you need. Who doesn’t want the two of you talking _this_ badly?

Well, too bad. They failed.

Maybe – maybe wait until you’re somewhere safe before you say that.

With a grimace you pick up the bleeding man. Only one way off the roof from here. Can your booster jets handle both of your weights?

Fucking hell.

Holding the limp body against you, you take another running jump. Jets flaring against the pull of gravity as you plumet. Slowed, but not by enough. You crash into the brush, white fire cascading up your legs and into your spine. Momentum carries you forward still, sending you crashing against the perimeter wall and

fuck

fuck no no no…

You shake Marconi. Where’d his mind go? It was still there. However faint. However dim. Can’t check for a pulse or breath with your gloves on. Press a hand to his chest as tight as you can bear. Nothing.

You drop the body to the ground with a thud.

He… he was going to die stuck on that roof anyway right? So – so you didn’t _really_ – you were trying to save him. Sure you were planning to rifle through his memories like a thief through cabinets, but you weren’t – you weren’t going to _kill him_.

Fuck.

fuck fuck fuck

* * *

Watch your reflection in the mirror. Only minor bruises and sore muscles from tonight, but you’ll fix that.

The face in the reflection is empty, it’s eyes a rancid green, partially obscured under a veil of curling red threads twisted out of shape. Skin paler than anything has a right to be under Californian sun. Whoever you jacked your genes from clearly was never meant to see the light of day.

Don’t look down, stare ahead at that grimace, gritted teeth. The sharp pain. The knife clatters out of a hand as steam from the faucet brushes the silver, condensing against the glass. With a hiss you shift position, pressed against the counter. Too hot – too warm. You jerk the arm out from under the spray. Pat it down with a towel. Distant screaming alarm bells in the back of your head. Grab a stretch of bandage and wrap the wound.

You’re here. This is real.

Almost.

Almost fooled yourself back there. Sneaking in where you shouldn’t, dropping everything to get someone out of trouble. It’s not you anymore. Let it go.You put two Rangers in the hospital and humiliated a third. You destroyed priceless exhibits and ensured no one would ever remember your old alter ego ever again. Now someone’s died – directly because of you.

‘He was going to die up there anyway,’ ‘it wasn’t your fault.’ Excuses. If you hadn’t had Rosie keep him from the helicopter, then at least his death wouldn’t literally be on your hands.

There’s no turning back from this, only pressing forward. However far you can get before the end.

You’re not going to burn alone.

* * *

Jane shades her eyes from the afternoon sun as she looks down at the business card in her hand, frowning. ‘Mia Ochoa.’ A reporter for LD Confidential. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

The deceptively small Fillipino woman sitting across from her huffs at that. “It’s the most respected independent newspaper in Los Diablos.”

“Uh-huh.” Jane slides the card into her purse, making a show of thinking it over. Wound her professional pride. Make her think she has something to prove. “And… how can I help you, Miss Ochoa?”

Ochoa flips over to a blank page in her penpad, chewing on her pencil eraser. A serious look settles over her face. “I know you were at the Gala the night of Puppetmaster’s debut… _and_ …” She hesitates, watching her lunch partner carefully. “I have reason to suspect you know more about what happened that night then anyone else.”

Jane’s eyebrows shoot up. She ducks down her head, hissing angrily. “And where do you get off making that kind of claim?”

From you, of course. You sent her the anonymous tip-off. Something to whet her appetite. Mia Ochoa is exactly what you need to start working the media angle. An established reporter with a respected reputation for pushing the edge, but not so famous as to be unapproachable by a nobody.

“I have my sources.” Ochoa answers, tactfully. “As I trust you have yours.”

Jane sits back, frowning. Drums her hand on the table. “Suppose I did. What’s your angle?”

Ochoa leans over the table, dropping her voice. “There’s something going on with this city. Something weird. I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

Hrrm… Jane hums to herself and shifts in her seat. Pulls out photocopied piece of paper. Ochoa’s eyes watch the paper as Jane spins it between her fingers. “You hear about Marconi?”

“You’re going to tell me it wasn’t a house fire.”

Jane purses her lips, puts the paper down on the table between the two of them. “Nooope.”

Ochoa picks up the paper, brow creasing as she tries to read the smudged print. “So the whole Puppetmaster arson thing was just a cover-up.”

“Oh, _Ghost_ was there.”

She looks up at Jane. “Ghost?” Blinks. “Oh.” Looks back at the paper in her hands.

“And _somebody_ wanted our friend dead. But it wasn’t Ghost.”

“Who?”

Jane spreads her arms wide, leaning back in her chair. “You’re the famed investigative reporter. Investigate.”


	5. hanging out the window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You promised Ortega you would try this whole ‘therapy’ thing. But now that it’s time, you’d rather chew tinfoil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [In the Shadows] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eedPJ1kzI7c)

## hanging out the window

Why did you agree to this?

One moment of weakness compounded by another. Ortega doesn’t even know a tenth of what’s going on with you and yet she always knows just when to capitalize on it.

“I can’t believe they let you out of – of the hospital already.” Side-eyeing Ortega, the two of you walk down the street. “I bet you’re wrapped up like a goddamn mummy under those clothes.”

She’s carrying herself better than you expected. Her favorite electric blue sports jacket hangs around her waist, exposing her flannel top. Bruises barely visible, a patchwork of darker hues against her skin. The colors contrasting against the stark white of bandages peeking out from underneath.

Ortega was always quick to get back on her feet back in the day, wasn’t she? You think you should feel relieved but you aren’t. The sooner Ortega is back into active duty, the sooner she’s throwing herself into danger again.

“Thinking about what’s under my clothes, huh?” Ortega smirks at you, skin wrinkling around her eyes. “Eres un poco pervertido?”

You bite your lip, heat flushing your face. “F–f–fuck you!” You hastily step away from her as Ortega snickers. Narrow your eyes and cross your arms. “Don’t be so… so–so–so full of yourself, old woman. How are you even walking?”

“Hey – I’m not old.” The response is curt. Good. At least you can still get under her skin _somehow_. “And;” she winks at you, “that’s a secret.”

“A secret.” You sigh. “I bet they just k–kicked you out for making passes at–at–at all the doctors.”

Ortega cackles, then winces with a sharp intake of breath. “Ow! Don’t make me laugh that hard.” Her smug face beams over at you. “You know me so well, Ariadne.”

“W–whatever.”

“You ready to talk about it yet?”

You stare straight ahead, keep walking. Just know she’s looking at you.

‘Ready to talk’ she asks, like it was somebody’s cat that died. Not – not you kissing her. In that elevator. Fresh out of dragging her off her hospital bed. Madness laced with desperation with an undercurrent of guilt.

“Ariadne?”

“I – I don’t know.” You admit, the air escaping your lungs. “I–I–I’m still…”

“Processing.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Ortega’s voice is soft, barely audible against the city noise. “How’ve you been otherwise? Hanging in there?”

“H–h–how have I been? I - I am - It’s fine.” You lie. “I – I’m not the, uh, the one that needs a month more of bedrest.”

Ortega’s response is immediate and self-assured. “This is more important.”

“No it’s not.” You roll your eyes. “Can’t f–f–fucking believe I let you talk me into this.” You pull ahead of her. Don’t want to see her stupid face – her stupid bruised, still healing face – creased in worry for the – the _thing_ responsible for it. A dull throbbing ache still vibrates through your legs with each step. Sore muscles still burning. Might have pulled a few things. Mementos of the fiasco at the Gala. Ones you can’t dare let show around Ortega.

“Ari, it’s going to be okay. This is going to help, I promise.” Can hear her quicken her pace to keep up with you. A hand catches your shoulder and you freeze, stock-still and ridge. “I know it’s scary.”

“I’m not scared!”

“Uh-huh.” Ortega steps around you, into your field of vision. “Trust me. Okay?” When you don’t respond, don’t take the hand she holds out to you, she sighs. “Just… at least give it a try. For me?”

You close your eyes. After everything you’ve done, don’t you… owe her something? “F–fine.” You relent. Take her hand. Let her drag you onwards towards your doom.

You’re not sure what you expected for a therapist’s dungeon. Some kind of marble temple with jail bars on the windows, maybe. Not… “This looks like somebody’s house.”

“Private practice.” Ortega offers, as if that explains anything. “She specializes in helping, well, you know.” Ortega shrugs, smiles at you in some fashion you can only assume is meant to be reassuring.

“Oh.” You answer. No, you don’t know.

Specializes in what?

In _what_ Ortega?

Goddamnit.

“Is this… who you see?”

“Oh uh,” She avoids looking at you. “No, The guy I see is in a different part of the city. But Dr. Finch is pretty well recommended. And…”

“You thought it was better we didn’t – um. Share therapists.”

“Yeah.”

What is she afraid of? That’ll you read the guy’s mind? Find out some secret of hers? That’s – you almost laugh. Still…

“Okay. Um…” You chew your cheek. Don’t want to step forward. Caught between the threshold and Ortega’s side.

“I’ll wait out here. We can get something for lunch, maybe, when you’re done?” Ortega looks like she’s about to hug you so you quickly step away. Towards the door.

“Okay.” You manage get out. “You... you–you–you better still be here!”

“Hey,” She smiles at you, “You know me.”

Oh god.

* * *

The woman before you holds out a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Ariadne.” Dr. Finch is… not exactly what you expected. No lab coat. No cold distance. She’s a short woman, roughly middle-age at your best guess. With a grey cardigan over a light blue blouse and a pair of glasses adorning her face that match the emerald ear studs.

You keep your hands to yourself. Shrinking into the oversized seat you were offered.

Dr. Finch lets her hand drop, a smile still on her face. “Is it alright with you, if I take notes? It helps me remember, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

It’s a little late for that. And It’s not like it matters. It’s never mattered what you said before.

You don’t say that, however. Shrug your shoulders, avoid looking in her direction as she sits down. Can pick up a note of concern and then she sets her notebook aside. “We’ll revisit the notes question later then.”

Huh.

What’s her game here?

“Are there any questions you have for me? Anything I can do to help you be more comfortable?”

Don’t answer her right away, instead glance towards the lamp hanging from the ceiling. Suppose you could ask… It’d be a simple enough test. Put a hand towards your sunglasses. “Um. Can you… make it darker? S–sorry.”

“That’s no problem at all.” She reaches over to a dial on the wall. As she turns, the light grows dimmer, until it’s barely on at all. “Is that any better?”

“That’s… thanks.” What is this lady’s deal? God. Why are you here? This is crazy. Worse than that, this is dangerous.

“So, I know we talked briefly on the phone,” _Very briefly_. “But I want to start by reminding you that this is completely confidential. Nothing you say here leaves this room.”

You frown. “Unless you think I’m a danger. To – to somebody.”

“Or yourself, that’s true. Only in cases where immediate intervention is called for.”

Cross your arms, don’t meet her eyes, don’t let her win. “Hrm.”

“Your confidentiality is important to me. It’s not the kind of decision that’s made lightly.”

And who gets to decide that?

“Why don’t we start, then? What do you want to talk about today?”

You blink, frowning. That’s… not how your interrogations have typically started.

“This is your time, Ariadne. You get to set the pace.”

Oh god it’s like she can – but no, she’s not a telepath. There’s no way. You’d notice something like that. Right? Right??

Dr. Finch’s smile doesn’t falter. “Maybe start with something about yourself? What you like to do, something you’ve learned today. It can be anything.”

You shrink back into the seat. “I… I don’t know. Um…” You’ve waited out interrogators before. You can do it again. Standard practice. You are a trained professional. She’s what? Some lady with a degree? Big deal.

Dr. Finch sits back in her chair. Smiles politely every time you glance in her direction.

She stays quiet.

You grit your teeth.

Fuck.

You glance down, studying your shoes. They’re old for sneakers at this point. Starting to peel apart at the seams. Like you, you suppose. Maybe it’s time to start putting more work in your appearance. If only to keep from ending up in more rooms like this one.

Still she’s not saying anything else, jesus christ. Can skim her thoughts. She’s curious. Comparing your behaviour – fuck, are you kidding, even doing this is giving her something to analyze you with, fuck this sucks.

“Look, I... “ You bite back the words in your throat. “I d–don’t know what you want. I’m only here because I promised Ortega.”

“The only thing I want to do is to give you a space to talk, Ariadne.”

“B–bullshit.” You spit back. “You don’t – you don’t care. You’re paid to care.”

“I know this can be scary, Ariadne. But I hope you’ll give me the chance to prove that I do care.” She pauses, purses her lips in thought. “This isn’t your first time with a therapist, is it?”

Shit. How–?

You grit your teeth, hissing out air. “No.”

“Those other times weren’t very pleasant, were they?”

Fucking hell.

You avoid looking at her. “No.”

“I’m sorry that happened. You deserve better than that.” Do you? “And I’m proud of you for being brave enough to still come see me.”

“Don’t – don’t patronize me.” You hiss at her, pulling your legs up onto the couch to press against your chest. “There’s… there’s nothing brave about being forced to come here.”

“Ariadne, no one’s making you be here. You can end the session and leave whenever you want.”

That gets your attention again, you jerk your head up studying her face. Nothing contradicting her thoughts.

“This is your space. It’s only helpful as long as you _want_ to be here.” She catches your eye, tilts her head with a smile. “I can’t make you stay.”

You chew your lip. “F–fine. Then… I’m done.”

“Okay.”

You stare at her. “Serious?”

“I’m serious.” She doesn’t seem to be lying. Doesn’t seem to be trying to trick you. It’s… weird.

Stretch out your legs, stand up. Still watching her watching you. She doesn’t move to stop you. Doesn’t even raise a hand. You frown. What is her deal? What the hell is this?

“W–what about - um… What about Ortega?” She’s the only reason you’re here to begin with. Why are you even subjecting yourself to this whole farce. Because she thinks you need help – thinks Ariadne needs help.

Dr. Finch shakes her head. “This is completely voluntary. She can’t make you do something you don’t want to do.”

“Hah.” Clearly she hasn’t actually met Julia Ortega.

Standing there, you feel frozen in amber, or caught between mirrors.

You sit back down, cough, clear your throat. “This is… it's, um, just a trial. Okay?”

Dr. Finch nods. “That’s all I ask.”

You frown at that. Let your eyes search the room as the silence settles back over between the two of you. “Did… Ortega tell you anything? About... “ You break off your sentence, can’t finish it.

“I’d rather hear it from you.”

“Oh.” Don’t know what to make of that. “Why?”

“Your friend may have pressured you to come here, but you chose to sit back down for a reason. Am I wrong?”

“I…” The words catch in your throat and your mind blanks. You shut your eyes, shake your head. Fingers dig into your legs. “Maybe?” Your voice cracks. “I don’t – how can, um, can anyone ever just… talk about this? I don’t know how.”

Dr. Finch’s voice is quiet and yet it cuts across the room, “You’ve already started.”

“Don’t – don’t give me that bullshit.” You groan, pressing a hand to your face. “I – I don’t even – I mean. Why is she _still_ trying to help me?”

“She?”

“You know who!” The hand migrates up to your hair, pulling at the curls. “Ortega.”

Dr. Finch stays quiet. Waiting you out?

It’s pointless. This whole thing is pointless. Ortega has no fucking idea what kind of monster kissed her. Thinking about it now makes your skin crawl. “God I – fuck, I’m so stupid.” Strands of hair come loose in your hand, a single white hair presents itself for inspection. “Or she is. Or – or – or both, fuck.”

When it becomes apparent you aren’t going to continue, Dr. Finch shifts in her seat Concern radiating off her. “What makes you say that?”

Fucking hell.

You bite your lip, hard enough to hurt. Throat tight, choking out the words. Shake your head as they refuse to come. How can anyone be expected to understand?

* * *

“Hola.” Ortega raises a hand to catch your attention as you step back out onto the street.

You finish putting your sunglasses back on and wave back to her. “Hola.” Your voice feels weak, throat still hurting. Your return wave is similarly weak and half-hearted. Still need to steel yourself to face the world again.

“So… how was she?”

You huff, look away from the anxious expression on her face. “She’s… okay. I – I guess.” You shrug. You still feel raw, exposed. Liable to collapse.

“See? I knew you’d like her.” You glance back at her as she claps a hand across your back. Her smile is broad and infectious.

You try to hide your own smile, push her hand away with a scowl. “Y–yeah well. I’m not cured yet. So…”

“Nothing happens overnight. You’ll get there Ari. I believe in you.” She sounds like she means it. The idiot. If she – if she had any idea. If she even suspected. She wouldn’t be saying that. You frown, pulling away. Ortega follows after, not quite willing to let you go yet. “I promised you lunch, right? Are you still up for it?”

“I…” You sigh, mirror her smile back. “I’m sorry, I think I uh, I need to call it a day.”

“Ari.” The concern in her voice is enough to make you wince. “At least let me get you something to take home with you, okay? I owe you.”

You want to shut that down. To make it clear she doesn’t owe you anything. Not after what you’ve done, or are continuing to do. But you don’t have the energy to fight her right now. It’s too seductive a lie to pretend she actually cares. If buying you lunch makes her happy, then fine. Nobody says you have to actually eat it.

“F–fine.” You sigh. “Um… thanks, Ortega.”


	6. one by one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nights drinking with Dr. Mortum have become equal parts business and pleasure. You never know where you’ll find a new lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Fake] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bEcZkr8_OGA)

## one by one

“Jane…?” Dr. Mortum’s voice is quiet compared to the noise of the bar. Busy night at Joes again.

“Mm?” Jane blinks, jerking her head up. “Sorry, sorry. I was a million miles away.” You need to stop thinking about Ortega. This is getting dangerous.

“Penny for your thoughts, mon amie?”

“Oh, uh…” She scans the floor, looking for something to sidetrack the conversation. “What do you make of that modded woman over there?” Jane nods her head in the direction of the game tables. A heavily scarred Latina woman with mods down the back of her head is in a heated argument with an Asian man with a crisp pressed suit. South-east Asian maybe? “Does she have any sense of self-preservation? That’s not the kind of guy I’d want to cross, personally.”

“Not the kind of person you would cross?” Mortum laughs, “What makes you say that?”

“Look at him.” Jane gestures in their direction, a quick motion. Hopefully not noticed by anyone but the doctor. “That suit? In this dive? Guy’s some kind of made-man.” She shakes her head. “Just asking for trouble.”

“You are not wrong.” Mortum nods her head in agreement. “I do believe that is one of Hollow Ground’s men.”

“Hollow Ground?” Jane frowns, drumming her fingers on the table. “Huh.”

Now that you think about it, you’ve seen him around here once or twice. Hollow Ground has a finger in just about every criminal enterprise in Los Diablos, so it’s to be expected, really.

“Do you think Hollow Ground is a real person, or is he like… some sort of shadow cabal?”

Mortum shrugs, suddenly interested in her drink. “I find it does not pay to ask that kind of question, mon amie.”

“Hrmmm…” Sooner or later, you’re going to end up crossing paths with Hollow Ground, whatever they are. In another life, you’d listen to Ortega talk about her theories, try to help her track down likely clues. Not once did either of you turn up anything material. Who or whatever they are, their grip was rock solid. Anyone that wanted to talk had a habit of catching a case of sudden death.

Ortega was convinced there was a singular person behind it. Someone that had murdered her mentor, Marshal Hood.

It was never your favorite subject. Something about the whole thing just… seemed off.

Funny to think you might stand a better chance of finding out the truth now, when you could never tell Ortega. “What are the odds you think it’ll escalate into a fight?”

Mortum doesn’t even look up. “Seventy-six precent.”

“Did you just make that up?”

“Of course, mon amie.” She winks at Jane. “Did you expect me to say something like, ‘somewhat likely’ like some kind of hack?”

“Ugh. Scientists.” Jane rolls her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder how much of your stuff is just bullshit.”

“Madam, you wound me.”

Jane doesn’t offer a retort, watching the argument slowly escalate in volume. Maybe you can get a sense of this guy’s abilities. Two-to-one he’s some kind of Enhanced. Rosie approaches the modded Latina, trying to talk her down.

To little success.

With a sigh, Jane pushes herself up from her seat. “Alright, I’m gonna go pull Rosie’s ass out of the fire.”

“I would have thought she could handle herself, but suit yourself mon amie.” Mortum eyes the scene, then flickers back to Jane with barely concealed curiosity.

“You know me.” Jane winks, a smile on her face.

Sauntering over to the table, Jane keeps her hands on hips as she surveys the scene. It’s a quantum roulette table. Numbers generated using quantum uncertainty to make an ‘uncheatable’ game. The wide variety of different boost abilities out there have forced gambling to take a few extra steps in order for casinos to stay on top.

The scarred Latina has left her seat to come around and prod Hollow Ground’s guy, who has in turn gotten out of his seat and is staring down at the shorter woman with an air of bored amusement.

Hrm. Doesn’t look like she had much money left. Good sign.

Rosie tries to reach for her friend’s shoulder, pull her back. “Mecha… please. Don’t start anything.”

“I don’t care! I’m sick of this cheater!”

Jane siddles up next to Rosie. No one else looks about to interview. The Croupier watches with a blank expression, as if expecting things to resolve themselves. The other players look to be quietly collecting their winnings. “Hey, Rosie.”

“–Jane?” Rosie glances to the side, face brightening up once catching sight of her friend. “Oh, hey Janey.”

“How’s the luck running?”

“Not bad – well, not as bad as…” Rosie makes a face, nodding towards Mecha.

“I heard. Along with the rest of the bar.” Jane eyes Mecha, who has not once stopped ranting at her supposed ‘cheater.’ “What’s the problem here anyway?”

Rosie drops her voice into a whisper, guarding her mouth with a hand. “Mecha thinks Jake here is cheating.” ‘Jake’ huh?

“Seriously?” Jane raises her voice. “She’s really going to accuse Joes of running a crooked game?”

That gets Mecha to turn, snarling. “No I’m not.” She jabs a finger at Jake’s chest. “I’m saying _he_ is cheating!”

To your relief, Jake brushes the finger off, his expression unchanging.

“So… let me get this straight,” Jane frowns. “You’re saying–”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business!”

“You’re loud enough to make it my business.”

Rosie winces, “She’s not wrong.”

“Look.” You sigh, shoot a glance at Jake. “You really want to say someone that works for _Hollow Ground_ has to stoop to cheating? Really?”

“I…” Mecha grinds her teeth, balling her hands into fists and then letting go. “I see your point.” Oh good, so she’s not suicidal. That’s nice. Mecha spares one last glance at Jake. “But…”

“It was a bad losing streak.” Rosie cuts in. “Legendary.”

“I… guess.” Mecha groans.

Jake shrugs, “Bad luck. It happens.”

“Whatever.” Mecha throws up her hands, stepping away from the table. “I’m out of here.” She doesn’t even stop to collect her meager winnings.

Rosie watches her leave with a sigh. “Well, that could have gone better.”

“Hey,” Jane winks. “It could have gone a lot worse too.”

Jake sits back down at the table, taking stock of his large pile of tokens. “You gonna play then?”

Would it be weirder to say yes or no? Jane glances at Rosie who shrugs, unhelpful. “Alright, well. There’s a free seat, so why not?” With a smile she takes the open seat and sits down. Guess maybe a round or two won’t hurt right?

It’s a weird sensation as Jane sits down. Like this has all happened before. Someone laughs as a new song comes on the radio. The numbers finish cycling, landing on red twelve.

Okay.

That was unsettling.

The croupier looks at Jane, blank faced. “Place your bet miss.”

Jane pulls a few bills out of her purse. As she does, someone laughs in the background, a new song cycling onto the radio. Okay. That’s weird.

A moment of hesitation and then –

Jane puts the fifty dollar bill on the table. “Put in on red twelve.” You did this before, didn’t you? Or were going to? Or was always going to have done? It doesn’t quite feel real.

“Jesus.” Rosie groans behind Jane, watching over her shoulder. “You don’t put that much on a single number, Janey.”

“Beginner’s luck.” Jane can’t stop the grin as she watches the numbers cycle. It’s all for show. The actual randomization takes an instant. But what is gambling without pagenty?

Hrm. No wonder so many villains gamble.

The croupier does not sound surprised as he speaks, but he looks in Jane’s direction, curious. “Red twelve, Miss Jane wins.”

Behind her, Rosie gasps, slaps Jane on the back. “Hot damn! I can’t believe it.”

“...neither can I.” Jane watches the small fortune shoved her way, wide-eyed. “I was just… the beginner’s luck thing was bravado.”

“Hey, guess drinks on you tonight, huh Janey?”

“...sure.” Sitting across from her, Jake watches Jane intently. He’s not the only one. Might have outstayed your welcome sooner than you expected. Robotically, she splits off a handful of bills and presses them into Rosie’s hands as she gets up from the table. “Have ten of them.”

“See, this is why we’re friends.”

“Uh-huh.” Swallow hard, throat dry. What the fuck was that?

Dr. Mortum is still waiting when Jane returns. Face a little more ashen then when she left. Purse significantly fuller.

Mortum raises her glass in greeting. “Still in one piece, I see?”

Jane’s smile as she sits back down is more brittle than you’d planned. “Disappointed?”

“Of course not, mon amie!” Dr. Mortum looks genuine enough as she says it. “I was mostly… curious what you were up to.”

“Worried?”

“More…” She takes a drink to stall for time. “Wondering why, I suppose.”

Jane shrugs. Would prefer to move on from this topic sooner rather than later. “I guess I wasn’t eager to see a friend of Rosie’s get put in an early grave.”

“Is that so?” Mortum raises eyebrows, not buying it. “That is a noble goal.”

“Probably futile, if we’re honest.”

“I was not going to say anything.”

Jane shrugs, keeps her back turned on the roulette table. Could swear you feel Jake’s eyes digging into Jane’s back. Without your telepathy, you can’t actually know that if that’s true or if you’re just being paranoid.

You’re not sure which answer you’d prefer.

“Do I really need a goal?” What Jane needs is a new drink. “It was fun, I guess. Nothing more to it.”

“Fun?” Dr. Mortum winks. “Perhaps you are in the wrong line of work, mon amie.”

“Oh don’t start with that again.” Jane scowls, “I felt like doing it, so I did.”

“Fair enough.” Mortum leans back in her chair. “I suppose that’s just life. Chaos and impulse until it all goes black.”

“Bleak.”

“But true.”

“I don’t know about that.” Jane’s smile is grim. “Nothing’s truly random.”

What was up with that table? How did you know that? Come to think of it, haven’t you felt that before? In the past. It was always easy to brush off before.

“There’s always a pattern,” Jane presses on. “Someone pulling the strings. _If_ you know where to look.”

“And you do, mon amie?” Mortum smiles back.

It’s an open question how much the doctor knows. Enough, at least. More than you’d like, almost certainly. Concerns for the future. As long as her friendship with Jane keeps her on your side, you’ll make use of her skills. And there’s always a call for that. Each new day offers new opportunities. New strings to pull.


	7. so unfamiliar now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unless you want Ortega hounding you to the end of your days, you’re going to have to put on a show and convince her she doesn’t need to keep worrying about you. You’re fine. Everything’s fine. She’s fine. Wait –

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Horseshoe Crab] ](https://youtu.be/QM5pPuFcJw0)  
> it's my birthday today! have a bonus update <3

## so unfamiliar now

If you’re going to get Ortega to lay off of you, you need to start thinking about your appearance again. Dressing in hoodies to look inconspicuous doesn’t do you any good if it actually ends up drawing more attention to yourself. So… What do you dress like?

Once upon a time Ariadne fancied anything and everything from skirts and the femmest outfits she could get her hands on all the way to shrugging on a leather jacket and gloves as part of her roller derby get-up. What could possibly be a logical progression from that?

Don’t want to look too affluent. A waste of resources. But you don’t want to look destitute either. So… Clean, some color. Mostly greens, some purples and black for variety. Cloth and cotton, things you can layer. Mix in some new items with thrift store purchases to fill out the rest.

One day at the mall, you stumble across a cute pair of shoes with a 1” heel and add them to the pile. The old Ariadne would never have worn something like that, but fuck her. She’s dead.

Should you start doing make-up again? Stare yourself down in the mirror in the morning and make a face. Bad enough you have to see that wretched thing as much as you do already. The concealer work is enough. Leave the eyeshadow and lipstick in the past. Anyone misgenders you, you can just beat the shit out of them. It’s 2020 now, you’re totally allowed to do that, super villain or no.

God. Do you look human yet? You don’t feel it. What is Ariadne like? How do you play this? Do you play up the stutter or tamp it down? Does she find it cu– Fuck. Fucking hell. No. No you are _not_ thinking about that. Jesus fucking christ.

You pull fabric around your shoulders, frowning in disapproval at the mirror. Once upon a time, Ortega’s mother gave you a serape like this for Christmas. That one was a rainbow of color. This shawl is a duller green, with a white geometric pattern along the edges. Still, it’s long enough, draping down to your waist. You could hide your arms completely underneath, maybe a few other things if there was a call for it. Kind of like the cape for your villain suit.

So is this you, now? Or at least, if not you; is it Ariadne? You’re allowed to change, right? Will she even buy it? You’re not sure that you do.

When you get the phone call from Ortega one evening you go along and let her make plans. You’ve got time to kill before your next big operation anyway. And you can field test your new wardrobe.

* * *

“Ariadne! Hola!” Ortega raises her arm, a bright smile on her face. Looks like the last of the stitches are gone. Thank god. She’s got jeans on, another flannel shirt. No jacket today? If it wasn’t for the gave-away glint of metal embedded in her arms and hands she’d look like a textbook middle-age butch lesbian.

Did she always dress like that? Is it because she’s seeing Jane now? Swear she flirted a little more femme when she was with men. Not that you were paying attention at the time. Of course not.

Shut up.

You raise your hand back, “Hola yourself. Y–you look happy today.”

“I like the new look.”

You blink, glance down at yourself. Doubt creeping back into your head. “Uh. Well. It’s uh, it’s just stuff I had… laying around… you know.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure.” She doesn’t believe you at all, damn her.

“D–don’t think it’s for your benefit!” You hiss back, you reach up and grab the edges of your shawl, pulling the green fabric closed over your body. “B–because it’s not!”

Her smile broadens. “I didn’t say anything, Ariadne.”

“F–fuck you.”

“I like the shawl, it’s cute.”

Oh god. You can’t look at her. Face warm. Ortega has a girlfriend, what the hell is she doing? “G–good for you. You um, you want to – to get on with w–whatever the fuck we’re doing today?”

“Alright, alright.” She laughs, turning and beckoning you to follow. “We’re already here actually.” Ortega gets about halfway to the front doors before she realizes (acknowledges?) that you aren’t following her. She turns her head, flaps her arms in a ‘what?’ gesture.

Pulling your shawl tight around you, there’s newfound gratitude for how your sunglasses help to mask your eyes.

You stare up at the front facade of the Los Diablos Children’s Hospital, white tiling and red brickwork and dozens of little panes of glass like too many eyes. “Ortega…” you try to keep the panic out of your voice. “I thought you said we were doing something fun.”

She walks back to you, tight frown on her face. “We used to do this all the time, remember?”

You stare at her, “Do what?”

“Visits? Readings? You know?”

Bite your lip, is that true? Ortega seems so sure of it, but… Thinking back to hospitals all your memory coughs up is a very different kind of picture. One that makes your stomach roil and your head dizzy. True or not there’s still one problem: “Ortega… I’m trying to keep a _low_ profile, remember?”

Ortega sighs and pats you on the shoulder. “Look, there’s no PR crew, no cameras, I haven’t even told Chen. The only person who knows we’re coming is the lady in charge of managing volunteers, Sue, and as far she knows you’re just a friend I’m dragging along.” She steps beside you, hooking her arm in yours. “So, you’ve got nothing to worry about, okay?”

You tense up as Ortega half-walks, half-drags you to the doors. “If – if, um – ninjas descend from the ceiling and kidnap me, I want you to know…”

“Yeah?”

“I f–f–fucking hate you.”

Ortega laughs, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bright lights and white walls, men and women in scrubs, medical masks. You keep your shades on, damn politeness. Mercifully, hardly anyone spares you a thought, eyes sliding off. Fewer people than you'd believe recognize Ortega out of her Ranger’s outfit. At the same time, you do get the sense she’s a known quantity here, this isn’t her first rodeo. You’ll just have to trust her; there’s an uncomfortable thought.

You wish you had the Rat-King handy, you can wrap a song tight around your head but you could stand to have a little help filtering out the background noise. Maybe it’s your own baggage, but the chatter of hospital thoughts always has this tension to it – forced cheeriness.

Hang back and let Ortega talk to the front desk, a few minutes of waiting and the woman, she mentioned, Sue? –Susan?– comes out frowning behind the too-thick fireproof doors. Straight brown hair, dressed in white, stud earrings.

It makes an interesting contrast between her and Ortega. Ortega’s sporting her Ranger-branded sports jacket today. Ranger-blue indigo shirt underneath. Her bronzed skin a touch darker in shade than her conversation partner. It’s a good look for her – the outfit that is.

You guess.

Not that you’re an expert on Ortega’s style choices or anything.

What do you care what she looks like?

You don’t.

Shut up.

Sue and Ortega make small talk, and Ortega keeps glancing your way. Expecting you to join in? You’d rather hang back. Not talking to any doctors today, thanks.

You worry the sleeves of your shirt, pulled down to the wrists. Rub the fabric between your fingers, trace patterns over your thigh, anything to do that isn’t further chewing up the inside of your cheek.

It’s been weeks now and neither one of you have discussed the kiss in the Hospital. Maybe Ortega doesn’t even remember. Some drug-fueled fever dream.

Or…

Or maybe she hated it? Is politely letting you pretend it never happened. She’s with Jane, you have to remember. Ortega is a lot of things, but she’s not a cheater.

And now Ortega’s beckoning you over. Welp.

Take a breath, in – hold – out. You’re not scared. What are you scared of? You are Ghost, the mysterious plight of Los Diablos. _They_ ought to be scared of _you_. Ortega taps the side of her head. No shades? You make a face and she gives you a serious look. You huff and pull them off, fold up and tuck them in your purse. White walls. White lights. Can feel your heart jump. Fuck. Ortega smiles at you, you fake a smile back.

You’ve got this. Everything’s under control.

Here we go.

Sue hands the two of you off to a nurse who in turn acts as your guide. You trail behind, not paying much attention to his and Ortega’s conversation. What you bother to pick up confirms that Ortega’s made a habit of these low-key visits apparently, to different hospitals across the city. Ever since returning to the Rangers.

Did Ortega used to drag you along to official Ranger PR events? You can almost remember. The memory of remembering. Try to think too hard about hospitals though, and you get panicky. Short breath. Little dizzy. A hospital is the last place you want to pass out at, thanks but go fuck yourself.

* * *

A pair of tiny arms clings to your leg and a jolt of panic shoots through you. “Uh… H–h–hello?”

A girl with cropped brown hair stares back up at you. “HI LADY! I like your hair!!”

You glance at Ortega, she’s got her back to you, teaching a boy how to do some fancy handshake. You catch the eye of the nurse, hanging back by the doorway. He gives a small smile. No help there. Look back down at the kid, “T–th–thanks? Um– Don’t you want to talk to Charge over there?”

She remains undeterred. “What’s your name?”

“Ari?” You glance towards Ortega again. Help. She remains utterly unaware of your plight.

“Are you a boy or a girl?”

You choke. “W–w–what? I’m uh– I’m a girl.” Fuck. What did she pick up on? You usually pass just fine these days. Could just die right now, that would be great, thanks.

“Oh. Okay!” There is absolutely no hint of embarrassment in this girl’s mind. “Are you Ms. Charge’s girlfriend?”

You hunch down and very gently try to pry her arms off your leg. “What um, what gives you that idea?”

She tilts her head, staring you down with full intensity. “‘cause you keep looking at Ms. Charge AND everyone knows the hero’s girlfriend ALWAYS has red hair!!”

You smile to hide the panic. “W–what uh, what makes you say that?”

She gives you a doubtful look, can’t believe an adult doesn’t know this. “‘cause it’s in all the movies!! Duh!!”

“Ari!’ Oh thank god. You breathe a sigh of relief as Ortega walks over, the other kids curiously watching behind her. “Making friends?”

“Hi Ms. Charge!!” The little girl fixes her full attention to Ortega.

“Hello!” She smiles widely, “Introduce me to your friend, Ari?”

“Uh–”

“My name is Casey!” The little terror cuts in. “SHE never asked!” Casey huffs. “Your girlfriend is RUDE Ms. Charge.”

“Girlfriend?” Ortega raises her eyebrows at you.

You shake your head wildly, suddenly way too warm. “S–s–she came up with that one herself!”

An hour and a half later of helping Ortega handle the meet and greet and you’re free again.

You slip your shades back on as the two of you exit the hospital. Run a hand through your purse to find the chocolate bar, peel off the wrapper at one end with shaking hands. “That was… that was something.”

Ortega claps you on the back and you stumble forward a step. “See? I told you you’d be fine.”

“Y–yeah, well…” You frown, “If you d–don’t hear from me in a week, you only have yourself to blame.” You break off a piece of chocolate, “Want any?”

“I’m good.” Ortega smiles, you shrug and pop the candy into your mouth “So…” Her smile fades as she glances towards you, “what did you think?” The two of you leave the parking lot, walk the sidewalk, you follow her lead through the streets.

“What d–did I think?”

“Want to come with me the next time I go?”

You give her a wry smile, “Y–You’re not gonna just, uh, just spring it on me again?”

She smirks back at you, “Me? Spring something on you? Never.”

“F–f–fucking smug-ass liar.” You punch her in the shoulder, and Ortega overplays it, comically swinging to the side. “W–why do I keep letting you do this to me?” You keep asking yourself that, and the answer hasn’t gotten any less terrifying.

“Do you remember the last time we did one of those visits?” Ortega glances at you as the two of you hurry across the street.

“When was that?”

“It must have been… well, right before–” She grimaces.

“Oh.” You chew your cheek, trying to think back. Can feel your stomach lurch as the world tilts under you. You have to stop and steady yourself. Cover it up by shaking your head. “I… kind of do? I–I–I haven’t thought about this in years, sorry.” You furrow your eyebrows, “I…”

“You were–” Ortega stops herself, “Oh, sorry, go ahead.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, finish your thought, it’s fine.”

Damn.

“I… think this might be… um, the first positive experience I’ve had with a hospital in… in years.” You grimace, keenly aware of the line you’re skirting. “Between uh… you in the hospital and…”

“And…?” Ortega slows down to match your pace.

Shake your head, “No, it’s – it’s nothing. Sorry. I don’t want to talk about it.” You try to smile even though it feels fake. “What were you going to say?”

“Oh, well–” Ortega rubs the back of her neck, “I was just going to say; I had to step outside to handle a phone call. And–” She laughs, “You were on the verge of panicking, all ‘Charge! Don’t leave me alone with these kids!”

You come to a stop, and groan, run a hand over your face. “Oh my god.”

“You remember now.”

You bite your lip, nod your head. “Uh-huh.”

“How did you get into teaching them about taxonomy? You never told me.”

You can feel the heat on your face now. “Okay. Look. It–it–it made sense at the time okay!? I thought it’d be easiest to keep them from going crazy if I r–r–read them a story?”

“Okay?” Ortega stops walking, leans her shoulder against a boutique storefront’s window, watching you with a smile. You cross your arms under your shawl to try and keep your hands from shaking.

“Okay. So. I just – just grabbed the first children’s book I saw. It–It–it was this animal book? I think? But it was all cutesy and inaccurate.” You bite your lip. “And when I pointed out a mistake, they all laughed so… I just… kept… doing… that…?”

She laughs at you.

You cover your face in your hands, heat going straight to your ears. “D–don’t laugh!”

Ortega covers her mouth, “Okay, okay. Sorry, you’re just so–”

You drop your hands to your sides, “I’m just so _what_?” You narrow your eyes at her.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “We’ll have to get you a book to read, the next time we go.”

Oh god.

“You’re going to – to kill me Ortega…”

Her smile falters, “I hope not.”

The two of you walk the next block in silence. Is it as awkward for her as it is for you?

Finally Ortega stretches her arms over her head and says, “I don’t do these hospital visits often enough these days.”

Watch her face from the corner of your eye, trying to get a read on her. “How come?”

Ortega sags, shoulders slumped forward. “Too easy to get caught up in work. Especially lately.”

Ah.

You have to keep your face blank, don’t let your heart race. “S–still obsessed with trying to figure out Ghost?”

She gives you a grim smile. “You know it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally: [[plant their hearts in community gardens]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786687)


	8. leave no room for anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You need cover, you need an alibi, and you need a place to plan and work out your next criminal action. What could go wrong from combining all that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Survival] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snLFcGSneFA)

##  leave no room for anything

Another day, another spike of adrenaline courses through you as you dive feet first through a stack of boxes, sending crates of delicate electronic equipment everywhere. You can hear alarms sound around you as the factory goes into full alert, the clanging of barring gates. You grin under the mirror sheen of your helmet. That suits you fine, keep the small fry penned up and out of the way? You’re too kind.

The wall in front of you collapses into dust thanks to the nanovores and you tear through the office, grabbing at papers at random. What you take doesn’t actually matter at this point, compromising their records is the goal here.

Damage done, you refer to your map, dissolve another wall and follow your thread out, back to the main entrance.

The woman standing in your way gives you pause. You’d been psyching yourself up for a rematch against Chen, but no, its Lady Argent, hands at her sides and poised to rush you. A half-circle of rent-a-cop security goons behind her block you in. “A factory, Puppetmaster? What, they stop inviting you out to parties?” She smirks and hunches down, fingers lengthening into sharpened claws.

Your face twitches under your helmet. “Don’t read the papers, Argent? It’s Ghost.” You hiss. Your voice, filtered through your helmet has a hollow, flat sound. You take a quick count of Lady Argent’s back-up, who’s most pliable to tying up the rest. None of the officers seem to trust Argent. Good. That makes this easier.

The woman of steel looks unimpressed. “Can’t say I care what you call yourself.”

That does it.

One of the rent-a-cop’s guns goes off ‘prematurely’, firing wide to your left, the rest follow in blind panic as you dive to the side. Argent is too focused on you, but with the Rat-King’s help you’re able to pull the rest of the goof troop into your song, pulling their attention in random directions. One of the shots dings Argent in her shoulder, bouncing off to through ground and to her credit she doesn’t look for the culprit, making straight for you.

You run your hand along the ground as you move, leaving a split in the asphalt as the Nanovores chew through material. Lady Argent tries to cut you off so you encourage two of the goons to stumble into her way as you continue your circle around them. You can’t afford to move slow enough for a deep groove, but if this works as planned, all you need is to prime the cut.

If it works.

Argent huffs, shoving one of the men the side, only for another to conveniently take position between the two of you. “Get out of the way!” It doesn’t slow her down for long, but it’s enough for you to finish the circle. Under your helmet you grin, heart pounding.

All that’s left is the magic word. You give the Rat-King the command to pull the strings and yank everyone back in.

You dash forward and slide down, just under the swipe of her claws. She turns to stab down at you as you come to halt. You roll out of the way and kick her arm aside on your way back up.

You check to make sure everyone’s inside the circle you’ve carved through the asphalt. “Heads up.” is all the warning you give before an explosion rocks the ground under everyone’s feet. A furious Argent diving towards you finds only empty space underneath her, and you leap back as the asphalt caves in.

When the dust clears you risk taking a quick check of everyone’s mental state; a lot of fear and alarm, some pain, but the headcount is still the same. You think.

Hopefully.

You shake your head. Focus. Don’t get distracted. Stay in control. You watch Argent and the rest pick themselves up, clear rubble off their buddies. You have to harden your heart against it, remember who they are, what they represent. “Next time,” you call down, “remember my fucking name!”

Admittedly, Argent makes it easier. She’s staring up at you, a single silver middle finger outstretched.

You don’t like the way she’s eyeing one of the support columns. Can she climb her way out? You don’t intend to stick around and see, it’s time to make yourself scarce.

* * *

Every super villain needs a secret lair. A base of operations. Somewhere you can plan your next move, keep mission critical materials. If Ariadne is going to be stuck playing retired civilian, it’s even more important to keep her as separated as you can from Ghost’s activities.

Eventually the day will come when you have to cast off that identity completely, but two years isn’t long enough to make you eager to resume a life of being actively on the run from a government agency. You need to gather more influence – and protection – if you’re going to ever unmask without it being an immediate disaster.

To that end… Ariadne needs a cover. She needs a job, co-workers, hobbies. A new wardrobe. You need Ortega to take a breather and ease off on trying worm her way in and fix every little aspect of your life.

So you’ll combine the two.

Technically a ‘Melissa Simone’ owns the computer repair shop you’re standing in front of. Ms. Simone also interviewed and hired yourself and the middle-aged lady with greying hair now manning the front counter.

You put a hand on the front door, hesitating. You keep putting this off but… guess you better ‘officially’ meet your new co-worker.

A bell chimes as you step inside. Old computer advertisements adorn the walls while parts and models are neatly stacked into three aisles across the open front half of the room. The building itself is on the older side. Hopefully a bit more use will get it looking properly run down enough to seem like it’s always been a repair shop here.

The woman at the counter looks up with a smile, a phone pressed to her ear. She holds a finger up as you approach.

You didn’t hire Marcie for her customer service skills. You hired her because she’s a terminally incurious middle-aged woman who fully intends to spend as much of her time talking to friends on the store phone or otherwise shirking her duties as much as possible.

Leaning an arm against the counter you wait for her to finish her current conversation, drumming your fingers against the wooden countertop. Watch the clock on the wall tick the seconds by. Finally she hangs up and turns back to you with a tired expression. “Alright, what do you want?”

You put on a sickly sweet smile. “My name is Ariadne Becker? Y–your um… co-worker?”

Marcie blinks, frowns, then flushes red. “Oh!” She hurries out from behind the counter, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought you were a customer.”

“I could tell.”

She puts her hand out and you give it a quick shake. “Are you really the only repairm–person here?”

“Eh.” You shrug, glancing at the beaded doorway to the back room. “If business ever picked up maybe it’d be worth hiring more.” Glance back to her, smile again. “For now, I’m it yeah. I don’t usually bother with – with um, the front entrance.”

“Well, if you ever need something from me, sweetie, you let old Marcie know, okay?”

You blink, not sure how to respond. She wasn’t this nice to Jane– ahem ‘Melissa Simone.’ “Uh. Y–yeah, sure. Thanks.” You cough. “Um… Ms. Simone gave you the – the rundown about the back right?”

Marcie looks at you, arching a skeptical eyebrow. “To stay the hell out? Yeah.” She leans in, “So… what are we fronting here sweetheart? Drugs? It’s drugs isn’t it.” She straightens her back with a dramatic sigh. “It’s always drugs.”

“I – what???” You stare at her. “W–we’re not – not ‘fronting’ anything!?”

She frowns. Is she… disappointed…!? “Oh? Really? Well. A job’s a job, I guess.”

“I… I just have a… very particular system. Okay?” You shove your hands into your pockets, looking away from her. Stare at the posters on the wall.

“Ah. You’re one of those.” One of those _what_? You can’t pick it up from her thoughts, just the sliding of her changing expectations. “Well, I’ll keep out of your hair, sweetie.” She steps aside, “It was nice to meet you Ariadne, dear.”

You walk past her in a daze. Push through the bed curtain into your ‘workshop.’ A central table has a pile of half-deconstructed computer cases, their silicon guts scattered haphazardly. A tool kit hangs from the wall alongside a clear plastic cabinet of replacement parts.

Hopefully the facade holds up. You don’t have much intention of _actually_ doing computer repair work here. It’s more than a little concerning that _Marcie_ of all people immediately jumped to the ‘criminal front’ explanation. Was hiring her a mistake? She doesn’t seem to actually care. Maybe you should go out of your way now and then to drum up business. Put some effort into looking legit.

Aside from the bathroom and breakroom, there’s one more room. Your _actual_ workshop. The shop technically is built onto the side of an old warehouse. You’ve walled off most of the space, installed a hidden door, just inside next to the back door out.

You didn’t use up the entire warehouse. Just walled off a decent sized chunk. The rest has been dressed up. Mostly shelves of boxes full of bricks. Something that’ll pass at least cursory inspection.

The door slides open to your touch, keyed to your fingerprint. It springs back into place as you step past. The lights flicker on at low-power. Now _here_ is where you can finally start to get shit done. Your armor is mounted to a secondary hidden compartment recessed into the far wall, next to a bed in case you need to crash or puppeteer Jane for a bit.

You’re particularly proud of the hiding place you’ve created for the Rat-King; an oversized lava lamp sits on the bedside table, a soft blue glow filling the room. Even if anyone breaks in here, anything of value will still be hidden. You’re not _completely_ stupid.

One corner of the room is taken up by a bank of screens and a computer terminal. A system of motion detectors, CCTV, and trip alarms have been carefully set up over the past month in a two block radius around the shop. Nothing is coming near here without you getting some kind of record of it.

And then, last but not least, against one wall a full-length table stretches underneath a pristine corkboard.

Not pristine for long… You reach back into your pocket and pull out a wad of folded up, blood stained papers. The only thing you were able to salvage from the Marconi fiasco. Could have just pinned this while you were setting everything up, you guess.

But this feels more dramatic.

You grab a pin from the cork board and smooth out the creases with your other hand. Jam the paper to the middle of the board. A bill of sale for something called a ‘Regenerator.’ You don’t recognize the name of the buyer, but the listed seller is the personal assistant to Mayor Alvarez.

You pin a scattering of related articles next to the receipt, your prize from today’s factory theft. They’re all related to the sudden government take-over and closure of the regenerator’s parent company, PharmaCore.

What exactly is going on here; you have no idea. But it’s shady as shit, and that means it’s a point of attack. If you’re going to crack the damn city open, this is your starting point. You grab a pen and paper as you sit down at the desk.

You hum a tune under your breath as you work. Time to start planning out your next moves.


	9. the truth won’t die when they pull that trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keep working that crack brigger. One day it’ll be wide enough for you to walk on through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Stigmata] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uVD6_NqUtn0)

##  the truth won’t die when they pull that trigger

Holding your breath, you fall from the top of the bridge strut to the traffic below, jets slowing your descent. You’d tagged the car in your HUD and timed the jump, but it’s another to actually do it.

The limousine bounces as you hit the roof. Tug at the mind of the driver and she settles back into her focus. Another nudge and she hits the button to bring up the privacy screen between her and the backseat.

Here we go.

You’re in control.

The past month has been burned on following up the lead from Marconi. Nudging open the cracks. And where you can’t get Jane to snoop around, Ghost is there to pick up the slack. You put your left hand to the roof and wake up the Nanovores. They open up a circle just big enough for you to drop through, landing next to your target.

George Vanderpoel looks up from his cellphone, a look of shock on his face.

“Oh, don’t bother calling for help.” You cross your legs, gesturing towards the driver. “She can’t hear us.”

He swallows, putting his phone down with trembling hands. “Stay away from me…”

“Mr. Vanderpoel,” You laugh, the distortion turning it into a flat, ugly sound. “I’m not going to hurt you.” You pause, make a show of shrugging. “Probably.”

He doesn’t dare look away. “What do you want?” His voice cracks.

“Just a chat. Between friends.”

“I know who you are.”

“You don’t. But, I know you. Mayor Alvarez’s personal aide.”

He frowns, tries to keep a stone face. But his hands give it away even if his internal screaming didn’t. “What do you want with me?”

“You’re a man of integrity.” You lie. “Tough on criminals.”

His expression remains guarded. “You’re a criminal.”

“Maybe. But there’s worse ones out there.” You hand dips down to your belt. There’s no small amount of satisfaction at watching him squirm, heartbeat pounding. You pull out a photocopied piece of paper, pass it over to him. “This look familiar?”

He frowns, not sure what to think, who to believe. “I didn’t sign this.”

“Thought so.” You sigh. “Oh, Mr. Vanderpoel, someone close to you has been _very_ naughty.” You hand dips down to your belt again. Pulling out a card, you flick it towards him as well. “Your buddy, Ava? That’s the code for her safe. Give it a look.” The Chief of Staff’s personal safe might be out of yours or Jane’s reach for now. But no one will suspect Vanderpoel.

He turns the card over in his hands. Suspicion mixed with worry starting to win out over fear. “What? What’s your game here, Ghost?”

“There’s no game.” You lie, again. And then, since you’re already lying and you need him on your side; “I’m not the bad guy here, despite what a few suits want you to think.” You add a telepathic weight to your words, willing him to believe it. “It’s a shame. Can’t trust anyone these days.”

“I don’t–” The car slams to a halt, sending both of you rocking forwards.

You straighten up, on alert. The Rat-King pulls your attention past the driver’s panicked alarm and towards someone coming straight towards you. You stand up. “It’s been good talking with you, Mr. Vanderpoel.” You drop your voice, “Stay out of trouble now.”

Climbing back out onto the roof of the car, you take stock of the scene. Almost at the other end of the bridge and this whole lane of traffic has come to a halt. A glint of movement catches your eye and – there! Some asshole is weaving his motorcycle across traffic. Straight at you.

Knew you would be here? And which car?

Hrm.

The Rat-King braces you as you reach out, grab the offending mind and pull. Force him to drive in a straight line towards you. He doesn’t get far before a car slams into his motorcycle, sending him rolling across the pavement. You hop down to the road, wincing behind your helmet.

The traffic slows to a stop around the both of you as the other man gets to his feet. Rubberneckers. Who’s the interloper? Not one of Vanderpoel’s men. Not a Ranger. Dip in a little further, get the name ‘The Handyman.’ There’s a name you recognize. No mods, not a boost. Just some fancy gadgets and a preoccupation with playing detective.

You hum to yourself, watch him hold a hand to his bleeding head. He really doesn’t belong here. Can feel Vanderpoel’s eyes on you as you step forward. The performance never ends.

You let The Handyman take off his helmet, smooth back his black hair before tucking on a cap. “You’re not who I expected to show up.”

The Handyman’s eyes flash behind his diamante mask. “Disappointed?”

You shrug. “Don’t care.” You plant your feet, watching for any sudden moves. “Stalking Vanderpoel?”

“I have my sources.” The Handyman pulls out a wrench, spins it in his hand. “We knew you’d be targeting him.” He flashes a grin. “And this is a perfect ambush spot.”

You tsk, shaking your head. “And you didn’t think to _warn_ him?” You shrug, hands palm up in an exaggerated gesture. He’s making this so easy. “What if I blew the poor guy up?”

“You wouldn’t.” He sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself. “I had a hunch.”

“Horrible.” You sigh, “risking someone’s life on a hunch.” You glance back at Vanderpoel. He’s still listening, good. “Hoping I’d take him out for you?”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

You step towards him, pulling your cape around you. “ _I’m_ not the one to convince here.”

The Handyman takes a step back. Reaches a hand back to his belt. “Don’t think you can trick me.”

Take a breath. Can already hear the distant thrum of helicopters in the distance.

Time to stop stalling.

You rush the man as he pulls a gun from the holster on his belt. The shot goes wide, as you slide under his aim. Rise up and grab his arm, snapping it backwards and twisting his thumb until he drops the weapon in a cry of pain. A hand comes down on the back of your helmet sending an electrical charge coursing through the suit system.

Panic shoots through you. Ortega!? Here!? You drop The Handyman, scanning the perimeter. Sweep your arm behind your head and you find the EMP charge. Your sigh of relief is met with a knee in your abdomen. Reeling backwards and coughing for breath you grab at the offending leg, twist the foot sharp the wrong direction.

The Handyman screams, collapsing to the road. You don’t give him a chance to recover. Kicking him in the ribs. “You – you really think you… had a shot against me?”

“I’m not…” He wheezes, pulling himself to his feet, one hand clutching his side. Favoring his uninjured ankle. “I’m not done yet.”

“Very heroic.” You hiss. “Give up.”

He tosses something at you, pellets that explode in a burst of light and chaff. You don’t need sight to pick out his mind however. To re-close the distance and kick the second gun out of his hand. Follow up with a punch to the face that lays him out back on the ground.

His hand goes for something else on his belt and you bring your boot down, pinning his wrist to the asphalt. “Stand down.” For just once could someone admit they’re beaten and go away already?

He’s grinning up at you with a bloody smile. Irritating. You press your boot against his wrist. You’ll give him something to smile about.

The Rat-King pulls at your attention with a chirp of alarm. You twist sideways, dodging silver claws. As if by magic, Lady Argent stands over The Handyman’s beaten body. An irritated scowl on her face. Late to the party? Shame about that LD traffic, huh?

Argent glances down at him, “Can you move?”

“Y–yeah…” He half-gasps it, voice rasping in pain as he pulls himself away. Hoping for a hand-up. It doesn’t come. Oh, this guy has a lot to learn about Argent it appears.

She shifts focus away from him, no longer concerned. “Then get out of here. I’ll wrap up our project.”

Really?

 _Really_?

You can’t help the laugh as you clap your hands together. “The _Rangers_ were in on this scheme?” Sure, let’s just have all your enemies discredit each other on live broadcast. Make this real easy. Who in the Farm wants to take the hit? You rest your hands on your hips, let The Handyman crawl away, he doesn’t matter. “Lady Argent…” You shake your head. “Of course _you’re_ the one needlessly risking lives.”

“Whatever.” She bristles, flipping back her hair. “I’m not the one that set this up.” She glances back at The Handyman, takes a step forward to put herself between the two of you. “He had a plan, I liked it.”

He raises a shaky thumbs-up. “Not… the first trap we’ve sprung together.” His grin is triumphant despite being spotted with blood. “I set them up, she knocks them down…”

“...don’t say it…” Argent groans, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

“Gotta use the right tool for the right job.”

“...why do they always need to talk…”

You glance between the two. “Adorable.” Vanderpoel is still watching. Still listening. Jesus. This has gone phenomenally better than you could have expected. Rangers and vigilantes working together – knowingly putting city officials at risk? “So you’re in on it.”

“I’m not. I’m just here to bring you in.” Lady Argent drops her hands to her side, flexing her fingers as she shifts her stance.

They just can’t help themselves, can they? “Not to protect Mr. Vanderpeol?”

She snorts, waves the idea away. “He’s perfectly safe. Don’t play politics with me.”

“You ought to pay more attention when a banshee gives you a warning.”

“Yeah, whatever. Your cosplay doesn’t impress me.”

You frown. “That overconfidence is going to ruin you.”

She eyes you, shifts position again as her fingers elongate into claws. “I’d like to see you try, villain.”

Argent moves faster than you’d expected. But you’re still faster. Dodging some strikes, deflecting others with the armored plating on your arms. Your first match-up was abbreviated – already exhausted both body and soul.

There’s no point in waiting for your death any more. You’re past it. Past living. There’s only this moment, this fight. Either you win or you die. And that’s still a win.

Argent’s movements are quicker, anticipating you with an unnerving accuracy. Can pick up her surface thoughts, that she’s been studying the recordings of your fights.

Fair enough. So have you.

You roll out of reach of her arms, the two of you pausing for breath. This is the third time since the Marconi fiasco that Argent’s cut an operation of yours short. It’s starting to feel like she’s hounding you specifically. You watch her, waiting for movement. “I’m not the one that put all these people in danger.”

Not this time.

Not anymore.

What more do you need to prove?

Argent narrows her eyes at you. “Don’t try that with me. I don’t give a damn about politics.”

She really can’t help herself, can she?

You twist out of the way of her claws, catch a knee to your chest. Moving with the blow you slide back, grab her leg and flip her off her feet, sending her rolling backwards. “Why?” You yell after, “Afraid I’ve got a point?”

She gets to her feet, snarling. “Shut up and fight already, cheater.” She tenses, ready to jump.

You grin behind your helmet. “No tricks that time.”

She grins, a predatory smile, and jumps towards you. At the last minute you step aside. Her claws catch your arm, pulling you backwards with her.

Wait – shit –

Argent hits the ground, pulling you down. And then she’s on you, hands digging into the sides of your suit, trying to slip razors in between the plates. Heart pounding in your throat, you buck under her, grabbing her hands and twist her off.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

this has to stop right now, needs to end fuck shit piss goddamnit

Argent’s eyes glance down at your hands, pick up a note of confusion. You don’t get time to examine it because you replace it with punching her in the face. She reels back, gouging more groves into your ablative plates.

It’s just Argent. You’re just fighting Argent. That’s all. Just a woman that can crack open your suit like a can-opener. Nothing to freak out over.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

You. Are. In. Control.

Take the chance to step backwards, hand touching the guardrail. Let the nanovores get to work. Roll to the side as Argent comes after you. Touch another point on the rail. A chunk of the railing drops to the road. Tripping hazard.

You’ll trick her over the edge. If she can survive being flushed down sewers, she can survive a swim.

Or that’s the plan – a kick catches you in the back as you try to put distance between the two of you, send you to the ground. Roll out of the way and hit her in the ribs as she tries to follow-up.

It’s getting harder and harder to predict her attacks. Her mind focused solely on your next movement. It’s unsettling, like looking at the reflection of yourself in her silver skin. Distorted.

Can’t let it get to you.

Catch her on the next attack, grab and swing, bringing your knee up and pushing her back. She staggers backwards. Rights herself just before she would have tripped over the edge.

Damn it.

She launches herself at you and – fuck, this is the wrong direction to do the whole ‘over the edge trick’ now. You just need her out of the way. A crowd is gathering around the two of you now. Standing there, gawking. Watching. Always fucking watching and doing nothing.

Maybe it’s time for the audience participation round…

Roll backwards out of Argent’s reach. Snare the mind of the nearest civilian. Young woman. Dazed, she doesn’t back up in time. You grab her, pulling her in front of you.

Argent stops, flexing her fingers. “Coward.”

“Don’t care.” The woman in your grip struggles until you twist her arm back, just painful enough to give her the idea. She freezes. Hyperventilating. Fuck. Is this really what you’re reduced to now? You feel sick.

“Let her go.”

“No.” You grit your teeth. “You go.”

Argent drops her hands to her sides. Still watching you. “You’re no killer.”

“You – you willing to bet on that?”

She takes a step forward. “Yes.” She takes another step.

“Let her go. Don’t bring other people into our fight.”

Panicked thoughts in the head next to yours and it sets your teeth on edge. The Rat-King curls protectively around you, trying to dull the worst of it. This is… what’re you doing?

Really?

You let her go.

Neither you nor Argent move as the woman, weeping, scrambles back into the crowd, into someone’s embrace.

Argent braces herself again. “See? That’s better.”

“Fuck you.” You snarl.

Why the fuck did you do that? Hostage taking isn’t going to help Ghost’s public image. And it – it… fuck, that woman –

A spike of alarm from the Rat-King pulls you out of it just in time to dodge the kick in your direction. You twist sideways, intending to get Argent from behind. Instead your foot catches on something and you stumble. Argent is on you immediately, and something sharp pierces your side.

Shove her away and stagger backwards, you hit something with the back of your foot. The railing. Back here again. Fuck. Okay. Take 2.

Argent moves to press her advantage. You twist out of the way, using your cape to obscure the movement. She slashes at the fabric, hissing and you spin around to kick her over the edge.

She anticipates you – catches your leg and pulls you off balance. For a moment you’re in the air and there’s a hint of green on the horizon –

and then you’re falling again.


	10. nothing cast in stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ve got to stop falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Satsuma] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2xrU2SgVVbU)

## nothing cast in stone

“Sidestep.” Chen sighs, glaring down at you as you scramble awake. “It’s the middle of the night. What’re you doing here.”

You straighten your jacket, adjusting your gloves. Idiot. Shouldn’t have fallen asleep like that. Can feel the imprints of the studs from your gloves pressed into your skin. “I–I–I could ask you the same question.”

“I _work_ here.” He crosses his arms. “What are you up to?”

“ _God_ Chen, I’m n–not up to anything!” You throw your hands up in the air. Get to your feet. Put some space between the two of you.

“You’re homeless, aren’t you.”

You spin on your heel at him, face red. “F–fuck you! I’ve got somewhere to sleep!”

“But still homeless.”

“It’s… It’s not like that.” Goddamnit. He always gets you like this. Every fucking time. Asshole. “Look. Chen… I just – I just feel asleep okay? I’ll go, jesus.”

Chen’s expression doesn’t change. “Do you need help?”

You recoil, “No!”

“Ariadne–”

“I don’t need anybody’s help!”

“Com’on starstruck, it’s okay to get help sometimes.” Anathema’s hand pulls at your shoulder. “This isn’t how this is supposed to go, remember?”

White lights blind your eyes as you turn on Anathema, slam her against the wall of the cell. “Don’t tell me how things are ‘supposed’ to go!” Anthema smiles back at you, unperturbed by your arm at her throat. You have to take a breath, fight down the scream in your throat. “You shouldn’t have died, Themmy…”

“And you shouldn’t have fallen.” Chen answers back, staring you down as you dig your arm into his neck.

“...and whose fault is that?”

Empty space in the shape of arms wrap around your torso pulling you away from Julia. She reaches for you, but there’s no force that can keep your hands together. Ghost’s armor envelopes you completely – swallowing your vision in empty void, it’s gravity crushing down on you.

Panic blinds your thoughts and you’re sitting in a Steak’n Shake. Anathema watching you curiously from the other side of the booth, noisily slurping a smoothie through a straw. She stops, takes a beat to catch her breath, never breaking eye contact. “So.”

You stare at her.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

She makes a face, waggles her hand. “You know.”

You shake your head. “I – I didn’t have a choice.”

“Hrm.” Anathema glances down at her hamburger, skeptical. “Ya know. I may have paid for this burger, but like, I’m pretty sure eating it would be a mistake.”

You stare at the vial of blood in her hand. “W–what?”

She shrugs, squirting the bottle of ketchup over her fries. “I’m just saying. Ya know. Hypothetically. That’s’all.”

“Themmy – you’re, you’re not making any sense.”

She looks at you, smiling with one eyebrow raised, the other missing. “Aren’t I, though? _Aren’t I?_ ”

You open your mouth to argue the point – Alarms blare in your ears and you startle, struggle against the grip of the water around you. Pulling at your limbs, sucking you down. A frowning face in the corner of your vision helpfully informs you your suit’s internal air supply is compromised.

Water.

You’re under water.

You fell.

Off the bridge.

You fell off the bridge into the water.

You’re going to drown.

If something down here doesn’t eat you first.

Distant ripple of sunlight – below you? That’s not right. Above. That’s up. The sun is above you.

Fuck.

Swimming

How do you – ?

Jane knows how to swim. Jane could swim. Trying to remember now. It’s all wrong, but you kick and push and the light gets closer. Break the surface. Paddle water to stay in place. The Bridge looms above you some distance to your left, opposite the angle of the sun. Which way was Rosie waiting with your escape boat?

Fucking hell.

So much for that planned victory interview with Ochoa.


	11. not okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can’t even be in the general proximity of The Rangers without being dragged into their garbage, can you?  
>  Tw: past sexual abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [That Kind Of Girl] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KgyVpijwvZw)

##  not okay

Argent working with vigilantes is a new development. Not an entirely unwelcome one if it makes the Rangers look even more unreliable. But it begs the question as to what the hell is going on in that damn building? Is it worth trying to ask? Ariadne is just Ortega’s retired friend. Nothing suspicious about a friend checking in on another friend. Right?

It’s been a couple of days since the bridge fight, so it’s not like it’s too suspicious. Plenty of time for all kinds of details to filter out into the wild.

Walking down mainstreet you stop to buy a newspaper, flipping through the pages. One article in the celebrity column gives you pause. Herald and Argent have broken up?

Huh.

You might not even need to do anything to get the Rangers to fall apart. Just push at the right moment and they’ll do the work themselves.

Once they're on their own, picking them off one by one will be a lot easier – your stomach twists into a knot at the thought. Do you… really need to do that though? As long as they aren’t a threat to the plan, that’s all that matters, right?

It’s an hour of wandering around before you find yourself standing in front of the Rangers HQ. You haven’t set foot inside since the morning of the Gala. Wonder how small Chen’s frown would get if he knew his advice helped push you down this path. ‘Commit to a choice, and stick with it’ huh?

Well it wasn’t _your_ choice that marked the Rangers as your enemy. You just stopped pretending otherwise. Fuck. Fuck this. What were you thinking? You can’t just… walk in the front door.

Can you?

You don’t belong there.

You turn around, trying to modulate your speed so you aren’t straight up running away. Because you aren’t. There’s nothing to run from. Don’t be stupid.

It’s the change in the crowd that tips you off first, people pointing upwards. What’s the big deal…? Oh. You hunch your shoulders, picking up the pace. Nope. This isn’t happening. Not today. You’ve got places to be.

“Ariadne!”

You groan, freeze midstep.

God fucking hell.

Shading your sunglasses with a hand you turn around and peer upwards against the sun at Herald hovering in the sky like violating the laws of gravity was a completely normal thing to do. Lucky fucking bastard.

He dips down lower. “Sorry, sorry. I saw you from the window, and, well, I thought I’d get a chance to talk to you inside but then you didn’t come inside and well, I’ve been meaning to talk and we haven’t had a chance and–”

“ _Wonderbread_ for the love of god, stop babbling.”

His smile is frantic and anxious. “Can we talk?”

Oh this’ll be good. You raise an eyebrow. “No one’s stopping you.” You glance around. Herald is drawing more and more attention. Ugh. It’s only a matter of time before it occurs to someone to ask _who_ he’s talking to. “Actually – Can’t we do this, um, somewhere more private?”

He brightens up. If that was even possible. “Yeah! Yeah of course! I know the perfect place.”

“Gre–fucking shit!” The ground drops away from your feet as Herald scoops you off your feet, soaring into the sky. You might have screamed. You flail your arms and legs trying to get free but Herald’s grip is worryingly tight, pressing you against his chest.

“Put – put me fucking down.” You're up too high now. You’ll fall. You’ll fall and die. And hands on you, holding you tight fuck why is it so bright, the light piercing around your sunglasses and shit shit fucking hell god dying would be better than this let go let go let go let go

Five years later and your feet touch solid ground. You shove him away, swinging your fist straight for his face. The asshole cries out in surprise, falling backwards onto his ass. Scrambling away you fall on your butt as well, pulling your legs to your chest. Breathe short – can’t get enough air. Fingernails digging into your knees.

“Sidestep – uh, Ariadne…?”

You swing a fist at his arm, batting him away. You bury your head in your knees. Try to stifle the sob in your throat. You’re not there. You’re not there. It’s just the sun. There’s no walls. You’re safe. You’re not there. You press your wrists against your eyes, pushing your sunglasses out the way.

Fuck.

Fucking hell.

Crying. Tears. Not like this.

Fuck. Fucking. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

It takes another two years before you finally have control again. Stagger to your feet. Rub the back of your hand against your face. Don’t care if it ruins the foundation. Herald stands there. Awkward. Worried. Watching. Always fucking watching. You storm over to him, and he takes a step back, raising his arms. He opens that damn mouth of his and before he can say a single goddamn word you slap him across the face, follow it up by slamming your knee between his legs. He wheezes, collapsing to the ground, clutching his privates. “Don’t. Ever. Fucking. TOUCH ME. Again.”

Cold fury fills you as you stand there, hands on your hips watching Herald squirm. Eyes watering. Fucking Asshole. Should have broken his other leg too.

You deepen your frown, and stick a hand down to him. Help him stand back up.

“S–sorry…” He rasps, bleary-eyed.

“What the _fuck_?”

He winces, stepping backwards from you. “I just… you wanted somewhere private so… I didn’t – I didn’t think.”

“You can’t just–just–just… abduct random women off the streets.” You fold your arms against your chest. Fuck. You did a number on him. That eye is going to bruise.

“Random…?” He frowns. Doesn’t get it. “But – you’re Sidestep.”

“Would Sidestep have just beaten the shit out of you?”

“Uh.” He coughs. “Probably.”

You frown at that. “Just… I don’t know. Warn me. Ask first. _Something_. You don’t…” What someone has been through. What they still dream about. You hug yourself, suppress a shudder.

Herald looks away from you, face flush. Embarrassed. Contrite? “You’re right. I just… I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while. And I got excited and…” You can see it in his head, clear as daylight. Never imagined you could have reacted like that. That’d you be vulnerable like this.

Weak.

This isn’t real. You can’t be real.

“Well, y–y–you deserve worse.” You glare at him. Already the panic and anger are slipping out of your fingers, sliding somewhere else. Escaping you the harder you try to cling on. “What’s the big idea?”

“I… just,” Herald groans, a hand massaging his cheek. “Ariadne, are you okay?”

“I’m just fucking fine, asshole.” You spit back. “And don’t – don’t tell _anyone_ about this.”

Herald blinks, alarmed thoughts swirling in his head. “What?”

“Look.” You straighten up, put out your hand to stop whatever is about to come out of his mouth. “Ortega’s already… breathing down my neck. She’s gonna be on – on both our cases if she finds out fucking _boy wonder_ gave me a panic attack.”

Shit you named it out loud.

Herald’s expression looks absolutely wretched. “Sidestep–”

“Ariadne.” Even as you insist on it, it doesn’t feel like yours.

“Ariadne,” He corrects himself, “I’m – so, so sorry.” He’s about to take a step towards you – sees how you tense up and thinks better of it. “This is… _not_ how I wanted this to go.”

“No shit.” You cross your arms. Cling to anger. You have a right to be angry now. Don’t you? That’s what you’re feeling right now. Has to be. Stay in control. “So what’s the big f–f–fucking idea that’s so important you–you–you needed to abduct me like a discount flying saucer.”

“Well… I wanted to, uh, ask why you retired but…” Herald sighs. Can practically feel the clouds storming up his head. Shit. He really does feel bad.

“Is it… _really_ a mystery?” You force yourself to stay standing. To not curl up. Stay in control.

“Heartbreak.”

“Yeah.”

“But…”

“What’s the big fucking idea anyway.” You glare in his direction, avoiding his eyes. “What? Did you think you’d be the big hero? Convenience Sidestep to come back where everyone else had failed?”

“I… no!” Herald grimaces, “Well. Maybe? I mean. I… I know you and Ortega have… uh, history. I thought that maybe I could…” He trails off, at a loss for words. “I just… You were Sidestep. You never gave up.”

“And then Sidestep died.” You turn away from him, frowning. For the first time it occurs to you to take a look around. Where the hell did Herald put you? A roof. High up. A sudden sense of vertigo rocks your legs as you see the distant buildings against the horizon. Tiny roads running up and down the hills.

Oh.

You’re up _high_.

Little tiny toy cars running over their tiny toy roads. You swallow, mouth suddenly dry. How high up are you? High enough to kill, probably. Would Herald catch you? He’d try. Unless you stopped him.

Save you from one jump just to give you a second. That would fix him. 

Herald – he’s standing – floating there. Watching you. “Ariadne?”

“Just – just get me down.” You can’t stop staring at the horizon. “I… I just want to go home. P–please.” Ugh. That sounded pathetic. Hate this. Hate how vulnerable he’s forced you into being.

He hovers closer, keeps his distance as if he’s afraid you might hit him again. Good. Sometimes that’s the only way to learn. You know that from experience.

Herald fidgets with his hands, “Um… Is it okay? If I…?”

You blink.

Oh.

Right.

He… he has to carry you back down.

You watch yourself nod. Obediently lift out your arms so Herald can awkwardly pick you up. The flight down is direct. Almost painfully slow. Like a human elevator. And then there’s cement under your shoes again and metal stretching into the sky hiding the mountains like it’s supposed to and not a single damn motherfucker pays more than a cursory glance to the mockery of the human understanding of flight that is Herald.

You take a breath, rub at the bridge of your nose.

“Again,” Herald’s voice filters in from the next planet. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think. I…” He falters. “I’d guess it’d be a little insensitive to say I’m not at my best right now.”

You glance over at him. God, you're so tired.

“Look. Side–” He winces, “–Ariadne. I… I know I really screwed up and you probably hate me now, but…”

Oh god. “Just… spit it out, Wonderbread.”

“Look. I don’t know who else I can ask at this point and–”

You step towards him, and he floats backwards. “Spit it out. Wonderbread.”

“I need help. For training. I mean for training. I need help for training, is what I meant.” He raises his hands defensively. Ready to catch another swing at him. It’s tempting to oblige but you restrain yourself.

“You’d really think… I’d ever help you? After today, Herald?”

He drops his gaze to the ground. “Look, I… I know I messed up. You’ve got every right to be mad at me. But…” He trails off, thoughts linger on the Gala. His fight with you.

Oh.

Oh no.

Herald looks up again, embarrassed. “I really got trashed in that last fight. My…” He puts a hand to his knee, the one you broke. “I can walk on it again, but it, well. It still hurts like hell. Chen’s got me playing spokesman for now, but… what good am I if I can’t fight, Ariadne? I can’t fail everyone like that again. I can’t.”

Herald is your enemy. He’s a self-absorbed asshole who abducted you from the middle of the street and gave you what might be one of the worst panic attacks you’ve had in months. How fucking _dare_ he make you feel bad for breaking his leg.

You should tell him no and punch him again for good measure.

He takes your silence for hesitation. Flares hopeful. “I can still remember, uh, growing up. Watching you fight. How you zipped around the whole place. Made use of whatever you could grab. I… know our uh, our ‘talents’ aren’t the same. But… I think that’s what I need to learn to do.”

No. No you are not seriously considering this. This is stupid as hell. You don’t feel guilty. You don’t feel anything. You’re beyond feeling. “Ortega’s a better fighter than I ever was.”

“I… think trying to learn how to fight like Ortega would probably kill me.” He laughs, runs a hand through his hair in a bid to burn off anxious energy.

You nod. “Yeah. That’s fair.” You don’t know how fighting like Ortega hasn’t killed Ortega.

Fucking hell.

You squint your eyes at him. “I’m not going to go easy on you.”

It takes him a moment. Then his whole face lights up.

You’re…

You’re going to get _something_ useful out of this, right?


	12. it feels like a lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three lives to juggle means three times as many more lies and conflicting agendas. How is anyone supposed to balance all of this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Please Just Go] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=luNMfDj-Ahk)

## it feels like a lie

Alarms blare inside your helmet. Shit. They realized you're here.

Rosie is on the other side of the city; you had her create a distraction coating Memorial Park in smoke to try and lure The Rangers away. After the bridge fiasco last week you could use a break, sick as you are of fighting Argent.

That doesn’t do anything for the local rent-a-cops.

With a practiced haste you fold up the sheaf of papers and tuck them into a black storage bag attached to your suit belt. You’ll have to go over the rest in detail when you’re back at your best.

For now, you better cover your tracks.

The Nanovores make quick work of the rest of the filing cabinet before you turn yourself to the rest of the record room. Pulling out paper sat random, ripping shelves off their hinges and toppling over entire metal units. Damage done, you put a hand to one wall and weaken the joists.

Squaring your shoulder you back up, bracing yourself. When you charge forward, the drywall collapses into splinters and dust. Cries of alarm echo out in the hallway and someone fires a gun.

Ugh.

Idiots.

You turn towards the source and the man in the dark blue uniform takes a step back. You grab his mind, pulling him into a daymare just long enough to close the distance and knee him in the gut. Catch the gun before it hits the ground and it dissolves into dust in your left hand. “ _Someone_ could get hurt.”

You let the man drop and he just lays there, staring at you.

As tempting as it is to keep basking in the adrenaline rush, you should get out of here before Argent shows up.

Besides, Ariadne and Jane both have appointments of their own to attend to today.

To the same woman.

* * *

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you adjust your sunglasses, press them up your nose and flush against your face. You’re just… going in to check on Ortega. That’s all. Nothing weird about that.

Just your friend.

Ortega.

Who is your friend.

That you’re checking on.

You step up to the door, hesitate – hand on the handle shaking. You let it go. Shit. Shit. Fucking – You turn back to the door and throw it open, storming in. The secretary at the desk looks up at you in alarm, one arm poised under her desk. “Hello! Can I… help you?”

“Ortega.” You state. Wait. Shit. Context. She needs context. “I’m here to see Ortega.”

The woman frowns at that, eyeing you up and down. “Can I ask who’s calling for her?”

You echo her frown back, cross your arms under your shawl. “I… guess?”

The two of you stand there in silence.

Oh.

Wait, shit – “Ariadne.” You offer. “Ariadne Becker.”

Her face perks up, suspicion easing slightly. “Oh! Your Ortega’s friend. I remember you now.”

You frown at that. She does? You’ve only been here, what? Twice? “I’m… sorry?”

She laughs, which only makes you frown more. “Ortega mentioned you were coming by today.” She did? “You can take a seat, I’ll let her know you're here.”

It’s not a long wait. Have to bite your lip to keep from smiling at Ortega walking out of the elevator. Raise a hand to catch her eyes. “Hey.”

She takes sight of you and smiles. “Hey yourself.” God. Just seeing her here is a relief. This building isn’t anything like the HQ your used to. Too clean and too sterile. Professional. Like the Farm.

“I – I made it. Hope you're happy.”

“You bet.” She grins, smug. No one would ever accuse Julia Ortega of being a graceful winner. “Com’on,” she beckons you after her. “Let’s head to my, uh...” She flashes a grin back at you, “ _special_ office.”

You tilt your head as you follow her back into the elevator. Tuck your sunglasses into your purse. Are you supposed to laugh at that or…? “Should I be worried?”

“Nah.” She punches a number into the keypad. “I’m too tired to get into trouble today.” She raises her other hand, shakes the coffee thermos she’s holding for emphasis.

Small talk with Ortega is an old routine. As comfortable, as it is dangerous: to forget for a moment this woman is actively working towards your destruction. That her smile is directed at an empty facade.

Well.

At least _Jane_ gets to kiss her.

Oh –

Why did you have to think that just now?

You follow after her out of the elevator, a short walk past offices and meeting rooms and into what looks like an unfinished closet, ceiling joists exposed naked to the air. An obviously outdated computer, weighs down the desk at one end of the room while a white board with empty red circles spans another wall. But what really gets your attention is the set of out of place and utterly garish cheetah-print chairs. “What the…?”

“Donations.” Ortega shrugs, as if that explains anything. She pulls a seat over for you. Comfy enough, you guess. “Sorry Ari, I can’t chat too long,” Ortega slides into the seat across from you, a coffee in one hand. “I’ve got to meet someone for work later.”

You frown at that. “Oh. Um… sorry?” Isn’t she meeting Jane? Going somewhere else first?

Ortega blinks, taken aback. “It’s… not your fault?”

“That’s my line.” You force a laugh, trying not to look as awkward as you feel. One hand pokes out from under your shawl to fiddle with your sunglasses. “I just… thanks for meeting me on short notice like this. I… know this, um, new villain has you running ragged.”

“It’s fine.” Ortega waves your concern off. “You know… you’re always welcome to stop by when I’m at HQ.” She makes a face, sitting back in her seat. “Which is… all the time now since, well…”

“Chen _still_ won’t let you back on active duty?” How long has it been now? Two months since she got out of the hospital? Time is starting to blur. Getting harder to track.

“He’s afraid I’m going to do something stupid.”

“Hrm. Y–yeah, that definitely doesn’t sound like you.”

“Shut up!” She laughs, punching you in the shoulder. You make a show of almost falling over, as if you’d been hit far harder.

“You poor thing.” You tsk, a faint smile fighting to form. If Ortega’s staying on a desk, she’s safe. Safe from someone that could hurt her again.

Safe from you.

You glance at the doorway. “You must be bored out of your mind, stuck here.”

Her smile gains an edge, “Don’t worry. I’m keeping plenty busy.”

You frown, searching her eyes. “I know that look Ortega. That’s a – a face that means trouble for somebody.”

Her smile only broadens. “Only the ones that deserve it.”

You eye the whiteboard. All the conspicuously empty circles. “And how’s that going?” That’s the real question, isn’t it? How aggressive can you get with your tactics before the Rangers buckle down?

Assuming they don’t collapse like a house of cards first.

Ortega shrugs, noncommittal. “I’m working on it. I’ve got a…” Her eyes flit away from you for a second before returning with a smile. “A multi-pronged approach, let’s call it. Keeping me busy at least.”

“Just… d–don’t get yourself put in a hospital again. Okay?” You try to catch her eye. You don’t have to fake this. This sincerity. The ache in your chest. “Please?”

She smiles back at you, soft, maybe a touch sad. You can never be sure with these kinds of things. “I’m taking this dead serious Ariadne. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Mm.” You frown. If anything her assurance just makes you more concerned she’s going to do something stupid. “Is that why you’re plotting in Harry Potter’s broom closet?”

Ortega gasps in mock shock, a hand to her chest before collapsing into laughter. “Ariadne! I’ll have you know this is the most secure broom closet in Los Diablos!”

You laugh, “Nothing’s secure in this city.” You should know. It’s been hell isolating your workshop off the network.

Ortega clicks her tongue and taps the side of her nose. “Not so hasty now. Maybe that's the Mayor’s line but you shouldn’t believe everything she says.”

“Ortega!” You laugh, “did you just tell _me_ not to trust the government?”

“Well, when you put it like that it sounds silly.”

“Uh-huh. And since when did you become a technology wizard?”

“That used to be your job.”

You fake a laugh. “Hey, if anything, it’s, uh– well, it’s more my job now than it ever was.”

“Well, I had some help.” She glances away, “Angie has a bit of a way with technology.” There’s a pause followed by a wince, “Don’t tell her I told you that.”

“Why?”

Ortega takes a drink from her coffee, dragging it out. “Because she’ll kill both of us.”

“I’d, um – I’d just as soon steer clear of her.” You answer, waving the concern away. “She s–s–scares the hell out of me. She’s like a… like a… woman-shaped shredding machine.”

“Angie’s really sweet! She just takes some effort to get to know.” A meaningful glance is shot your way. “Not unlike a certain asshole in this room.”

You smile back at her. “You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that.”

“Ouch! You’re vicious today.”

“S–sorry. I…” You go silent. Not sure how to finish that sentence. What else you can possibly say…? “Hey, um…”

“Yeah?”

“You said I could pick somewhere we volunteer at… that _isn’t_ a hospital, right?” You watch her from the corner of your eye, not quite facing her.

“Uh, hey, yeah! You had somewhere in mind?”

“Y–yeah. There’s uh… there’s this soup kitchen. Up in… Pasadena. They’re… small so we should, uh, call ahead.” Got some memories of that place. Hadn’t expected them to still be around, over seven years later.

“Pasadena?” Ortega purses her lips, thinking. “That’s around one of your old haunts, isn’t it?”

You nod. No point trying to play it off “Y–yeah.”

“Okay. You make the arrangements, let me know a date. I’ll try to make sure my schedule is clear.”

“That’s… thanks.”

Ortega takes a sip of her coffee, “So. Was that all you wanted to ask me about?”

“Not exactly… um.” How do you put this? You shift in your seat. “I’ve been, uh – seeing the news stories lately… What’s this about Argent working with vigilantes? Did you know?”

“I…” Ortega looks away, back down at her coffee. “Yeah. I mean. It’d be kind of hypocritical of me to disapprove, don’t you think?”

“Someone’s going to get hurt.” You sigh, “I mean… I understand what you mean but…”

“We made a good team.”

“...yeah.” You sigh, hold yourself up with a hand to your forehead. “But Lady Argent doesn’t seem to be a – well…”

“A team player. I know.” Ortega glances up at you, a quirk of suspicion on her lips. “But you’re retired now, Ariadne. You told me yourself, this isn’t your world any more.”

You sit back, stare out the window at the passing traffic. “I… I know. But – having…. Having you around again. It’s… hard not to care. I… want to let it go. But when it seems like the Rangers are falling apart and I’m just…”

Responsible.

“Now that sounds like the Ariadne I know.” Ortega’s voice is sad, sad enough to get you to look at her again. “You never could just sit on the sidelines. Even when it was for your own good.”

You make a face. “Well, neither could you.”

“Guilty as Charged.”

“Oh f–fuck you.” You laugh, slapping her hand away. “I can’t believe you never – never made that pun before.”

Ortega’s smug grin doesn’t leave her face. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed your helping Herald now.” She leans over to you, still grinning. “Anything I should know about?”

You lean away from her, eyes wide. “W–what!? I’m just– we’re just–”

Ortega bursts out laughing. “Relax! I’m only teasing you.” She looks up, sees the expression on your face and starts laughing again.

“Asshole.” You hiss at her, face red. “He’s just a dumb kid who doesn’t know the first thing about how to hold himself in a fight.”

“I think that fight with Ghost finally shocked him out of his comfort zone.”

“Or maybe,” You give Ortega a pointed look. “You all just weren’t training him right.”

“You were his childhood hero, you know that right?” Ortega’s smile fades. “He looks up to you.”

God. There’s a terrifying thought.

“Give it time.” You huff. “I’ll fix that too.”

* * *

“There she is!” Jane flings her arms into the air, “I missed my practice buddy.”

Ortega laughs, catching Jane in the coffee shop door. “Just your ‘buddy’ huh?”

“Hmph!” Jane pouts, “You _know_ what I mean.”

“Madre de Dios, I’m so glad to finally be out of that hospital.” Ortega smiles with her whole face, pulling Jane in for a hug. For a moment it feels like they might kiss. And then they disentangle.

Jane mirrors the smile back with a touch of puzzlement. “Did they really only just let you out?” Jane and Ortega haven’t had a chance to meet up since Ghost crashed the Gala over a month ago now. Two months? It’s getting hard for you to keep track of time. But you _know_ she’s been out for a while now.

What’s going on?

Ortega’s smile freezes on her face as she rubs the back of her neck. “Well… I’ve been busy too. Work.” She flaps an arm in the general direction of Ranger’s HQ “Sorry. I should have at least called.”

“It’s okay…” Jane’s smile takes a bitter edge. A knot twisting in her gut. “Our date didn’t exactly… go well, did it?” Maybe that’s it. She’s just trying to spare Jane’s feelings.

“Hell, Jane, I am _so sorry_. And then you got… hurt because of me and…” Oh. That’s why she’s been avoiding Jane. Guilt. That makes sense. You understand guilt.

“Stop it.” Jane presses a finger to Ortega’s lips. “It’s not your fault. It’s…”

Ortega takes her hand, gently lowering. “Ghost’s.”

Jane laughs, disdainful. Weaves her fingers between Ortega’s as they move to walk down the street together. “Is that really the name now?”

“Yeah.”

“How dumb. What is this guy, emo?” Jane glances back towards Ortega. Was that a frown on her face? It’s gone. She’s smiling again. Jane smiles back.

“It is pretty dumb isn’t it?” Ortega laughs along. “I’ve heard worse ones before though.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Emperor President is still my top pick.”

Jane laughs, “That’s not dumb, that’s fucking amazing.”

“Maybe it wraps back around to that.”

“Well, maybe it does.” Still laughing, Jane twists around so she’s standing in front of Ortega. Bringing the both of them to a stop. “So. I think you owe me something.” There’s a glint in her eye. This is – this is forward. Too forward? No, it’s Ortega. Relax.

Ortega’s face is a careful blank. “Do I now?”

“Another date? I…” Jane breaks eye contact, biting her lip. “I mean. If you want to. Of course.”

Ortega squeezes her hand. “Of course.” Her smile turns sheepish as she looks away too. “Honestly, I… was worried I had, well, scared you off after everything.” It’s like a weight is lifted from Jane’s shoulders. The sun is brighter, the sky bluer.

“Hey!” Jane pats her on the face, redirects her to meet Jane’s eyes again. “It’s going to take a lot more than bombs and a mentally disturbed wacko to scare me away.” She tilts her head, laughing with her eyes. “that’s practically my day job already with all the debt BS.”

“Alright…” Ortega’s smile broadens, more confident. “Alright, great!”

Jane steps forward in Ortega’s space, “And I’ve got just the idea of where we can go…”


	13. a little victimless crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like combining business and pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Do It All The Time] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hXzPxBhhmY8)
> 
> Originally: [[bigger than the sound]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20982206)

##  a little victimless crime

It is as if you’re fighting with one arm behind your back.

When you originally conceived of this plan, you figured you’d use the villain suit sparingly. When infiltration as either Jane or some other possessed stooge wouldn’t cut it. Maneuver people into positions where you could plant suggestions, instill compulsions, weave a web of threads over the city with yourself at the center.

Argent’s possession has entered into your regular stable of nightmares. If that wasn’t enough, she’s hounding you at every turn, ensuring you can’t forget. Even pushing the mental commands, is starting to fray at you. Are you really any better than The Directive if you don’t let people think for themselves?

As long as they go down, does it matter?

“Ugh.”

Dr. Mortum frowns from across the table. “Is everything okay mon amie?”

“Oh, sorry.” Jane grimaces as she looks up from the day planner in front of her. “I’m just trying to figure out how to – to fit all this shit into one week.”

“Mm.” She picks up her wine glass, eyes scanning the night’s crowd at Joes. “Your boss is running you ragged these days.”

“Tell me about it. Oh, that reminds me, I need to put in another order for more of that black 2.0 paint.” Jane groans, one hand holding her forehead as she scans the week for an open time slot. “Can’t believe how high-maintenance that damn suit is.”

“A problem with my work?”

“No, no, it’s the damn paint. The slightest scratch ruins the effect. And of course, I have to route the money to pay for it, through like, three shell companies.” She chews at the end of her pen, circles an open slot and jots the reminder in. “There, hope that’s enough time.”

How many lives are you living at this point? Jane with Mortum, Jane dating Ortega, Jane as criminal fixer, Ghost, Ariadne the retired vigilante, and whatever the hell is going on between Ariadne and Ortega… to say nothing of keeping both bodies fed and healthy, or skimming enough cash to pay for everything.

“Do not forget to put aside time to sleep, mon amie.”

Jane puts her planner to one side and looks up at Mortum with a hopeless smile. “Personally, I think that’s a feature, not a bug.”

That does nothing to ease the look of concern on the doctor’s face. “Trouble sleeping?”

“It’s nothing. It’s fine.” Jane sighs, waving the concern away. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Mon amie–”

“I said don’t worry.” It’s touching, almost, how concerned Dr. Mortum has started to get over Jane’s wellbeing. Haven’t figured out what exactly her angle there is. “Look…” Jane trails off as you try to find the right words, a way to thread the needle. “I… appreciate your concern but I’m fine. Seriously.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Say so. Look, I’m not even working the frontlines anymore. No more being blown up, you know? I promised.”

Mortum does not look convinced. “Spying on the ex-marshal does not count as ‘front lines’ to you, mon amie?”

Jane scoffs, “What’s she gonna do, give me the tingler?” Actually...

No! Stay focused!

Mortum gives her a tired expression. “Charge is a craftier woman than you’re giving her credit, mon amie.”

Loud, brash Ortega? The woman whose smile makes Jane feel like she’s lighter than air? She shakes her head. “I don’t see it.”

“Well, that’s rather the idea now, is it not?” Mortum’s smile is grim and she holds out her hands, palms up. “We all play up particular roles so that others might overlook the parts we wish them too.”

That gets a raised eyebrow, “And are you hiding something from me, doc?”

“But of course, mon amie. As I assume you are from me. This is how people are. Can anyone ever truly know another?”

“I thought your thing was science, not philosophy.”

“In my prefered field? The distinction between the two can get terribly blurry.”

It’s hard to argue with her. And that alone is enough to make you nervous. _Is_ Ortega up to something? How much does she know about Ghost and how much does she just suspect? You thought she was just trying to reconnect with Ariadne out of sentimentality, but what if she’s trying to keep tabs? The thought is enough to make Jane frown.

You have to face facts and admit that cutting ties with Ortega completely is the safest move. Jane’s the one with the relationship, the one making a connection. Ariadne’s a ghost from the past, a hanger-on. She’s got no business making eyes at Ortega.

Being around her… being forced to confront face-to-face with the impossibility of what you can never have… it’s painful. Ortega would hate her, if she knew the truth about Ariadne; what she was, what she’d done.

You can’t go back. It’s unthinkable. So, if you can’t work yourself up to dying then there’s no choice. You’re stuck on this path. You can’t unring the bell.

“–mon amie?”

Jane blinks, jerking her head up from her planner. “S–sorry, what?”

Dr. Mortum watches her from across the table, concern knitting her brow. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh, ah.” Jane winces, an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I got lost in my head there.”

“It is the lack of sleep mon amie.” She smiles.

“Maybe.” Jane mirrors the smile back. “Still – there’s no rest in sight for this bad girl.” With a sigh, she snaps her planning shut and tucks it away in her purse. “I’ve got another, _very_ exciting meeting tonight.”

“Be careful, mon amie.”

Jane flashes a smile and downs the rest of her drink before leaving a twenty on the table. “You know me, I always am.”

* * *

“Thanks for coming with me,” Ortega whispers from the corner of her mouth.

“Of course, thanks for inviting me.” A smile flits across Jane’s face as she studies the mess of an abstract portrait hanging on the wall in front of them. “Hopefully no super villains crash _this_ party.”

Ortega laughs, uneasy, as she rubs the back of her neck. “Anyone that does is going to regret it.”

Jane arches an eyebrow as you try to keep her from smiling. In the aftermath of the Gala fiasco, security has tripled in order to keep the city’s elite feeling safe. The Mayor’s Guardian force was milling around here somewhere, ready to jump into duty in a split second. For the Rangers, beside Ortega, Jane has seen Herald milling around somewhere and it wouldn’t surprise you if either Argent, or Steel, or both had been bullied into attending.

The Mayor needs to prove to her benefactors she was worth keeping in office. The Rangers needed to prove they were worth keeping in Los Diablos.

Lucky for you then, Ortega still owed Jane a second date.

No explosives this time. No dramatic fights, or burning buildings. No terrible mistakes with people screaming and blood everywhere and emergency rooms filling up. Going to do this right. Going to do this quiet. The bastards won’t realize the damage until it’s too late.

“Charge! How are you holding up?”

Jane and Ortega turn together to find Herald walking towards them. It’s a little strange seeming him in a tuxedo again. All crisp angles and sharp features. He raises an arm to wave and you think Jane spies a glimpse of blue sleeve from a Ranger skinsuit underneath. Well, that confirms what you suspected from the Gala. Wonderbread really is ready to throw-down at a moment’s notice.

Is Ortega? She’s in a suit this time instead of a dress. Easier to fight in?

Ortega waves back at Herald with a smile. “Haven’t throttled anyone yet, how about you?”

Herald takes Ortega’s hand and pulls her into a quick hug. “Oh, this is old hat to me. I just focus on the art, and see how many fancy hors d’oeuvres I can sneak before anyone notices.” Ortega laughs and Jane politely covers her mouth to hide the smile. He shifts his gaze down to Jane and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Sides–?” He flinches and shakes his head. “Wait, no?”

Jane keeps her face blank. Sidestep? Sidestep who? Never heard of the bitch.

There is a tense silence and then Ortega breaks it with a forced laugh. “Sorry, this is my friend Jane I was telling you about.” She gestures towards you and then from you to Herald. “And Jane, this is Herald, but you probably already knew that.” More forced laughter.

Friend?

“Sorry,” Herald rubs at his knee, “you just reminded me of someone.” He shoots Ortega a curious look.

Was it too late now to go back and dye Jane’s hair? You idiot. You stupid vain idiot. All the more reason to keep the two lives separated. Why did you have to go and get Jane involved with Ortega?

Moron. Fool. Buffoon.

Jane keeps her face a careful blank. “It’s… nice to meet you too, Mr. …?”

Herald smiles, awkward. “Just Herald is fine. Nice to meet you, Jane.” He doesn’t offer a hand to shake.

When Ortega and Herald descend into small talk Jane breathes a sigh of relief and politely detaches herself from the conversation. A few tense moments, but it had at least bought you some needed freedom from Ortega.

Time to get to work then.

“Excuse me, folks, I’m just gonna duck into the restroom real quick.”

Ortega nods, “You know where it is?”

“I’ll figure it out. I’ll see you at the shrimp bar, sweetie.” Jane winks at Ortega, a smirk spreading across her face at the slight color on her hero’s face. Still got her.

Your sense of direction as Jane isn’t as strong as Ariadne’s but enough time spent studying floor plans makes up for it. Weave through the crowd, past the buffet table. The further from the food and the booze Jane gets the less people in ritzy outfights milling around being offensively rich.

There, next to the restrooms, a side entrance for the gallery. A very bored looking cop stands next to the door, watching the guests.

Mustering up all the elitist disdain she can muster, Jane approaches the door and gives the cop a dismissive glance, adding some gravel to her voice. “I’m taking a smoke break.” The man frowns but otherwise doesn’t stop Jane as she steps through the door, pretending to fish through her purse. Perfect.

Outside, the street gives a clear view to the Hero Museum just down the block. Once again closed for renovation and repair. The dumb bastards. Maybe you’ll trash the next grand opening too. Keep it up until they get the idea.

It doesn’t take long to spot her. The woman pacing back and forth down the sidewalk, staring anxiously at her phone, purse hanging loose in the crook of her arm. Jane whispers to get her attention and when that doesn’t work progressively raises her voice. “Hey! Ochoa!”

She looks up, sags in relief and hurries over to Jane, her movements stiff and awkward in the tight black and gold floral dress. “Finally! I was about to call the whole thing off.”

“Do you want your dirt or not?” Jane hisses.

“Please, Jane.” Mia Ochoa’s frowns, “I’m an investigative journalist, not a tabloid columnist.”

“Sure, whatever.” Jane glances up and down the street. She keeps a hand in her purse, fingering the gadget from Dr. Mortum that should be disrupting the video cameras. How long did the charge last for again? Five minutes? “Sit tight, I need to get the pig out of the way first.”

“You’re not going to–?”

Jane snorts, “I’m not going to hurt anybody. I’m not stupid.” She tilts her head, thinking. “Well. I’m _probably_ not going to hurt anybody.” She shakes her head and holds up a hand. “Whatever, wait here. This’ll only take a second.”

“Ugh,” Jane contorts her face into a visage of barely contained fury as she steps back inside. “I can’t believe some people.”

The cop sighs, “There a problem, Ma’am?”

A short bark of a laugh. “Problem?” Jane glowers down the hallway. “Yeah, there’s a fucking problem.”

Eyes flicker to Jane’s nametag. “There’s no need for that kind of language, Miss Smith.”

Jane snarls, “Tell that to the asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself.”

That gets the cop’s attention. “Again, is there something I can help you with, Ma’am.”

Jane holds her breath. You’re about to do something really shitty. Oh well. Sorry Kieth, it’s for the greater good. “Yeah, alright.” Jane sighs, avoiding the cop’s gaze. “someone ought to teach that damn waiter at the cocktail bar some manners. I’m not the only woman either he’s harassed tonight. The ass.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “I’ll see someone talks to him.” He puts a hand up to the walkie-talkie strapped to his breast pocket. Presses the button. Jane holds her breath. “Hey, Sam? I got a woman here reporting a problem with one of the help.”

The cop frowns as no one answers.

“Sam? You there?” No response. “Kim? José?”

Jane crosses her arms, and taps her foot. “I thought you said you’d take care of it.”

He shakes his head, “Something’s wrong with my damn walkie.” He taps it one more time and shakes his head. “Goddamn this garbage keeps busting. Sorry miss, I’ll have to find my superior.” He shoots Jane a glance, eyeing her up and down. “In the meantime, use some common sense.”

Jane huffs, as the cop walks off, grumbling about equipment.

Honestly, you half-expected that not to work. Thank you, Dr. Mortum.

A quick glance around to check for any other eyes and you step back to hold the door open. “Alright Ochoa, you’re in.”

“Finally.” The reporter quickly steps inside and you let the door close. “I can’t believe I’m really doing this.”

Jane frowns as she digs through her purse again. “Yeah, well, if you want the real meat you gotta go where they don’t want you to be.”

“Oh believe me, I know.”

“Ah, here we go.” Jane pulls out a small laminated pin, holds it up for Ochoa’s inspection. “Your own name pin. It’s like you were supposed to be here all along.”

“Oh!” The woman takes it from Jane’s hand with a look of surprise. “You thought of everything.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

As the two of you walk down the hallway to rejoin the main event Ochoa pins the name tag to her chest and smoothes out her dress. “Alright, well, thanks for getting me in. I can take it from here.”

“Just don’t forget our deal. You owe now.”

The smile fades from Ochoa’s face. “Of course.”

Jane scans the room as the two of you step in. There’s Ortega and Herald still talking in the far corner, and then there’s… “Actually,” a tight smile crosses Jane’s face, “how do you feel about an introduction to the Mayor’s right-hand man?”

Ochoa’s eyes light up, “I’d love it.” She frowns, “But do you think he’ll talk?”

“I think you might be surprised.” Jane grabs Ochoa’s hand, pulling her through the crowd. There we go. Jane raises her free hand in greeting, “Professor Vanderpoel, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

The balding clerk turns with startled surprise towards Jane, as the other two men in his group stop talking, watching the two approaching women with mild interest. “I’m sorry… do I know you?”

Jane laughs, a bright smile on her face. “Don’t tell me you forgot me already? Tell me you at least remember the linden trees?”

A cascade of color rockets up the man’s face. “That– that was a very different time in my life.”

One of Vanderpoel’s companions laughs and elbows him in the side. “You never told me you used to teach!”

Vanderpoel flinches, “I haven’t for eight years.”

Jane nods, knowingly. “Such a shame what happened! Still, I’m so happy to see you’ve bounced back without any problems.”

“Well…”

“Anyway,” Jane cuts him off without mercy, “I was just catching up with my good friend Mia,” Jane tugs Mia forward by the arm. “When I saw you over here.”

One of Vanderpoel’s friends tilts his head, “Mia…? You look familiar.”

Ochoa’s smile is strained. “I’m a reporter for LD Confidential.”

Jane laughs, “Don’t worry, she’s not working today.”

Vanderpoel’s two friends laugh with Jane, but Vanderpoel himself has a thoughtful look in his eye. Encouraging. Ghost’s bridge-side chat with the man has been sinking in after all.

The man on the right claps Vanderpoel on the back. “You know some lovely ladies man, I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on us!” A strange look crosses across Vanderpoel’s face and the three men make room for the two of you to join their conversation. You can’t stop the smirk on Jane’s face. You’ve got them.

S u c k e r s.

Not every bomb needs to be literal.

A few more minutes of smalltalk to help work Ochoa into the conversation and then Jane politely excuses herself from the group. She’s got a date to rejoin after all.

Ortega perks up as Jane crosses the room, a glass of wine in each hand. She doesn’t wait to ask before offering Jane one of them. “I was beginning to think you might have ditched me.”

Jane smiles, laughs, as she takes the wine glass. “Sorry, sorry, I saw some people I knew and got distracted.”

“Oh?” Ortega’s focus zeros in on Jane, “Anyone I’d know?”

“Oh, I doubt it.” Jane shakes her head and waves a hand to dismiss the idea. “Just some old college friends. “ She glances about the room, “Herald still around?”

Ortega laughs, “He’s around somewhere. Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering.” Jane sips from her glass. “You have a lot of attractive friends.”

Wait, fuck what? Why did you say that? What the fuck? What happened to that masterclass of infiltration?

Ortega blinks, surprised, then laughs. “I hadn’t pegged you for being into men too.”

Jane glowers up at her. “So what?”

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m bi too.” Ortega smiles, pats Jane on the shoulder, then lets her hand run down the arm.

“You are?” Jane winces, “Ugh, what am I saying, of course you are. Sorry, I’ve apparently lost my mind tonight.”

“I suppose my love life is pretty well documented at this point.” There’s a bitter tinge to Ortega’s voice that catches you by surprise.

“I’m surprised we haven’t shown up in a tabloid yet,” Jane admits.

“Ghost’s debut kind of took over the headlines for awhile, didn’t it?.” Ortega laughs, “It’s just as well. I don’t get the kind of media attention that I used to.”

“Miss it any?”

“God no.” Ortega smiles widely, and then the smile quickly fades. “Sometimes I wonder how many relationships it cost me.”

Huh. “Was it that bad?”

“You got out for dinner with one guy and suddenly they’re your boyfriend. After awhile I just kind of embraced it. Especially once I became Marshal. At least I could take some ownership over it that way, you know?”

“I’m… sorry, that sounds pretty rough actually.”

“It’s in the past now.”

Silence threatens to stretch out between you two. Jane coughs, “So… when did you figure out you liked women, then?”

Ortega rubs her neck, “When I figured it out…? Hrm.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, I’m just… it feels like so long ago now.” Ortega sighs. “I guess… there was this vigilante…”

Jane holds her breath. No– It couldn’t be, could it? “A vigilante?”

“Well, I had just joined the Rangers properly.” Oh. “This vigilante, Axel. She was this speed boost that worked in the south end of the city. She was Latina too, and we just… kind of hit it off.”

“Wow,” Jane says. You try to wrack you memory for anything about an ‘Axel.’ It’s not ringing a bell. “What ended up happening?”

“It wasn’t easy trying to keep it out of the press. Eventually it got to be too much and we just kind of… mutually broke it off. She retired not long after. Or moved, maybe?” Ortega crosses her arms, thinking. “That’s it, she moved down further south. I haven’t heard from her since.”

“She didn’t want to go public?”

Ortega sighs. “This was like the early aughts. Things were starting to change but…”

Jane frowns. “There would have been consequences.”

“Yeah. I think…” Ortega stares at the floor between the two of you, lost in memory or maybe regret. “I think maybe I had been too pushy. I was under a lot of pressure at the time. The new face of the Rangers. They told me I needed a relationship to look ‘normal.’”

“Human.” Jane prompts, unbidden.

“Yeah,” Ortega laughs, bitter. “That too, I guess. Not that it was an excuse, mind.”

“Would a relationship with a woman really work for that though?”

“Well, we’ll never know now. I wanted to try but…”

“But?”

“I don’t think I gave her the space to really process what coming out would mean. We just fought about it. A lot.”

Jane rocks back and forth on her heels, avoids looking at Ortega. “That’s rough, I’m sorry.” Ortega never shared this with you – with Ariadne. You’re not sure what that means. How to feel about it.

“Well, hey,” Ortega looks up, catches Jane’s eye. “I learned from it. Eventually.” She smiles, and Jane smiles back. “Well, I told you my story, what’s yours?”

Jane blinks, bites her lip. “Oh! Uh. Hrm.”

“Sore subject for you too?”

“Uh… not exactly…” Jane laughs while panic runs through your head. “Like… when I figured out I liked guys…?”

“I was more thinking women? Society kind of expects the male interest.”

Jane forces a laugh. “I guess that’s true. I’ve never actually dated a guy though.”

Ortega shrugs, “Doesn’t make you any less bi. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Is it still bi if you don’t want to date guys though?” Jane frowns, looking away. Floor, artwork, the crowd. Anywhere else.

“Oh. Hrm,” Ortega pauses, “I guess that’s up to you? I’m not the sexuality police.” She laughs and Jane finds herself joining in.

“Oh good. I’m safe then. I mean… guys can be… attractive, I guess.” Jane shrugs helplessly, “But… I don’t know. I guess I’m kind of afraid of them?”

“Jane…?” There’s a note of concern in Ortega’s voice, and Jane cringes. This conversation is getting too real.

“This isn’t really the place to talk about it.”

“Okay. I get that. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Jane sighs. That is absolutely not a subject you want Ortega to chew on. You need something to distract her. “ As far as women go, well..” You need to think of a story quickly. “There was this… girl I worked with in – in… college.”

“You know,” There’s an impish grin on Ortega’s face, “they say you should never date a coworker.”

Jane scowls, “Oh believe me, no dating was involved.”

Ortega puts a hand over her mouth. “Oh no! You just pined from afar?”

“Uh… more like, right next to her. For five years.”

“Ouch. She never caught on?”

The pained expression on Jane’s face matches the one in your heart. “I… have no idea?” Shesighs and downs the rest of her wine glass in one go. “Honestly, I didn’t really… understand what it was I was feeling until years later. And then… it was too late.” She shrugs and looks away. Can’t believe this conversation is happening. Have you lost your goddamn mind?

Ortega is shaking her head, equal parts amused and pitying. “I never would have pegged you for the shy type.”

“Hey!” Jane crosses her arms, “not shy enough to keep from kissing you.”

Ortega laughs again, “I’ve noticed.”

“I learned from my mistakes too,” Jane lies.


	14. everything breaks in me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, you know what they say; no plan survives contact with the enemy intact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Wolf] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TtIKr6uWqHs)
> 
> Originally: [[Everything Breaks In Me]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20585969)

## everything breaks in me

You breathe a sigh of relief as Herald shuts the break room door behind him. He’s not that young, but just the air he has around him makes you feel decrepit by comparison. To say nothing of the stars in his eyes, plain to see in every two sentence exchange with the kid. Try not to think about the limp in his gait, his preference to hover over walking, the night at the Gala.

Damnit. How are you going to take them down for good if a broken leg is enough to make you feel like shit? These people aren’t your friends or allies. They’ll turn on you the second they know the truth. That was true before Puppetmaster hit the papers, and it’s only become more true now that Ghost is making regular headlines.

Something like you can’t have allies, never mind friends.

You can’t afford to forget that.

Never again.

You won’t go back.

Glance around the break room, no point trying to raid the fridge while you wait for Ortega. You need time to figure out how you’ll approach that conversation. Things have been… strange for months. Just thinking about her is enough to bring on the nausea. How can she not see you for what you are? How is she not repulsed?

You run your hands through your hair. Maybe you can help yourself to some hot chocolate. Get your hands something to do before you dig a hole in your skin. You drift over to the coffee collection, flip a finger through the bags looking for the cocoa.

It would be easier if you could just cut contact with Ortega completely. Just fucking ghost the fuck out of Julia. But, one, that would just get Ortega hounding your heels and two, would lose you access to the Rangers. Maybe if you hadn’t kissed her in the hospital? The two of you have never actually discussed that night, despite your promise. You’re terrified to bring it up. A moment of weakness you couldn’t afford.

You’ve been having a lot of those lately.

Well, you know what they say; no plan survives contact with the enemy intact.

You’ve just finished pouring yourself a mug of hot water and cocoa powder when the door opens. “So.” Chen announces as he steps into the break room, leaving the door open behind him. “You’re back.”

You settle against the window pane, cross your legs at the knee as you lean back. Make it clear you’re not about to leave. “I th–thought we already got past this part, Chen.” You hold the mug tight to your chest, one hand spinning the little red stirrer stick round and round.

You pick up a burst of frustration, but Chen’s face betrays none of it. “You were very insistent on being retired. And yet,” Chen stoops down to search through the refrigerator. “And yet, here you are again.”

You take a sip, ignoring the burn on your tongue. “Free country, Chen,” you lie. “You’re the – the Marshal, if really you want me out you could just have me barred from the building.” Maybe you’re playing your hand a little strong here but you can’t keep having this conversation with Chen. It’s exhausting.

He pulls out a squeeze bottle and shuts the fridge door as he stands up. “I could,” Chen concedes, and for a moment your heartbeat quickens. Is he seriously going to call your bluff and have you tossed out? Chen sighs, rubbing his nose. “But I won’t. You aren’t a threat.”

You blink. “I uh – I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Chen’s mouth twitches in the ghost of a smile. “You aren’t a threat _yet_.”

“There we go.”

“You haven’t tried to ‘improve’ the coffee machine, for example.”

You close your eyes and rest your head back against the glass. “Jesus Christ. Are you all still holding that against me?”

You hear Chen sigh, he sounds exhausted with you. “Is that really what you think this is about?”

You narrow your eyes at him, staring down from across the room. “Then explain to me, Chen. What is this about then?”

Chen meets your glare head-on and you have to will yourself not to break eye-contact. “I meant what I said before. I’m glad you aren’t dead.”

There’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere...

“But–”

Yeah, there we go.

“It doesn’t change the reality, that for the rest of us, you _did_ die. You were dead for seven years Becker. And now you think you can just, what?” Chen’s frown deepens. “Come back like nothing happened?”

Something between nausea and fury bubbles up in your throat and it is all you can do not to throw your mug across the room at him. “You have no fucking idea what I went through Chen! So back the fuck off!”

The silence stretches into seconds, then a minute, then “It was that bad, huh?”

Fucking hell piss goddamnit the bastard got you again.

“I’m not fucking tell you anything.” You clench your jaw, don’t look at him. Don’t look at his stupid face. Don’t peek at his stupid trap thoughts.

“You should tell somebody.”

You glare into your mug of hot chocolate. “Why do you even give a damn Chen.” If you had heat vision, the cup would be boiling.

“The way I see it, Becker, I’m wondering the same thing about you. Ever since you started coming by again you keep fixing little things, giving Ortega advice...,” Chen takes a pull from his squeeze bottle. “You act like you hate it, but no one’s forcing you to give Herald lessons. Argent’s the only person you’ve really avoided.”

“I just–” you hiss, frustrated to be on the back-foot once again. “If – if Ortega’s going to–to–to keep calling me over, I might as well make myself useful.”

Chen is staring straight at you and you have to hold your mug with both hands to keep them from shaking. “You asked me before, about choosing between two futures. If you want to retire Ariadne, then retire. Don’t let Ortega drag you into a half-life. That’s not fair to either of you.”

You tighten your grip on the mug, grind your teeth. “But why do you care?”

“You mean besides Ortega being my friend?” Chen’s voice drops as he talks. “Because I don’t understand why you do.”

“I–I–I just…” Are you sick? Mad? Both? What is Chen’s fucking deal? You need to go on the offensive again before he drives you from the building. “Look.” You raise a hand towards him, still not looking in his direction. “It’s obvious you guys are in trouble. I… I don’t want the Rangers to fall apart.”

Is that the truth or a lie? You’re not sure.

“Kind of you.” Chen’s voice is deadpan. “I think I know more about teamwork than you do.”

“Just – I might not have joined but – but that doesn’t mean we didn’t all make a good team.”

A wave of want and nostalgia seizes your heart.

If you could only go back to how things were before. Anathema and you pranking Steel, giving Sentinel a thumbs up. Talking with Sunstream about her garden. The nights with Ortega, her watching you at Derby games, the celebratory dinners or the consolatory milkshakes. Making sure Ortega got home safe after a hard fight. Fixing her hair for her. Helping to stitch her back up until the medics could come. Being her sounding board as she butted heads with PR and city officials. So many other little things you’re sure you’ve forgotten…

It’s all gone now. You’ll never get it back.

A lie. A dream.

And when you woke up–

“I wish you would have.” Chen says, pulling you out of your reverie.

Wait.

“What? J-joined?” Seriously?

“Yes, I wish you had.” When you look at Chen, he’s no longer staring you down, instead looking past you, out the window.

“I… I wouldn’t do a background check, you know that.”

He looks back to you and now it’s your turn to look out the window. “And you wonder why I didn’t trust you.”

“Not – not everyone is tight with the U.S. Government, you know.” You have to take a breath, scratch your fingers against the sides of the mug. “That doesn’t mean they’re bad.”

“The chances increase.”

You bite your lip a little too hard and wince at the pain. From the very beginning Chen has been trying to push you out. Reminding you that you don’t belong. Can’t belong. But… Chen has always been something of an outsider, like you. Why can’t he understand? “But they… they might have enemies.”

Chen takes a long drink from his squeeze bottle. Finally, he says “I’m sorry.”

You look up from your mug. “You’re… you’re sorry?” You choke back a laugh. “For what?”

There’s a… you can’t read the expression on his face. Something you don’t think you’ve seen before on his face. Regret? “For a lot of things,” He says. “I…”

“W-what?”

“I went looking for you.”

You manage to put the mug down on the table before you can drop it. He can’t – He can’t really mean? But? Why? What did he? But then? You cough, run a hand down your leg, pressing familiar patterns. “Didn’t they tell you I was dead?”

“Yes.” Steel nods. “I had a bad feeling. Something didn’t add up.” He shakes his head. You don’t think you’ve seen him this tense, this nervous in a long, long time. “They tried to tell me it was trauma from whatever the hell Heartbreak was.”

“An experiment, or…” you pull your arms tight against yourself. This is dangerous territory. “That’s my guess anyway.”

Steel doesn’t look directly at you, but his frown intensifies, eyebrows dip down. “You think someone… did that on purpose?”

“Uh – maybe not on… purpose.” You hug yourself tight, fall back against the wall again. “But they… they had been kept somewhere. There was…” You have to swallow down the bile. “Still equipment attached. Med-medical.”

“Huh. Interesting.” If Steel notices that you’re literally trying to hold yourself together, he doesn’t comment.

You furrow your brows, clinging to the twinge of irritation at being ignored. Better that then– “What? It’s interesting there’s something more than just a screwed up boost?”

Steel finally looks back at you. His frown doesn’t let up. “There’s always something more to everything in this city. You know that. It’s just not smiled on to look into it.”

“You did anyway.”

“I needed answers.”

“You’ve always been nosey.”

“Your words, not mine.”

You take a breath. “Well? Did you find any?” It’s like peering over the edge of a window. Testing the air.

“I… didn’t find you.” He glances away from your face, towards the break room door.

“So you found something then.”

“Bits and pieces.” He admits and your heart freezes. “Who’s Chelsea?” Steel watches you, and you have to struggle to keep your face blank. Swallow down the burst of panic. The sudden urge to run, to jump.

“Nobody important,” you lie. Even as the words leave your mouth you can tell he doesn’t believe you. That he knows that you know he doesn’t believe you. You close your eyes. “Was that really it? The best you could do? Some old ghost?”

“There was more, a lot of dead ends.” Chen shakes his head. “Enough that I stopped looking.”

That gets you to look at him again and he won’t meet your eyes. “What? Why?” A bitter twinge in your stomach churns at your throat. “I thought you didn’t like mysteries?”

“I don’t. But… I needed to put the team first.”

You can feel the frustration bubbling again. The team first. The team you weren’t a part of because of a stupid piece of paper. The team he just told you he wished you joined. “Fuck that noise.” You hiss. “What aren’t you saying?”

“Plenty.” Steel steps away from the table, back towards the door. “Maybe you should ask yourself why.”

“Hún dàn.”

Chen’s eyebrows shoot straight up, and then his mouth quirks to the side in amusement. “Your pronunciation could use some work.”

“Fuck you.”

“If you want to know so badly, Becker, just read it from my mind.” He only breaks eye contact with you to put his drink back in the fridge.

“I’ve told you it doesn’t work like that.”

“And I’ve told you, I don’t believe you.”

“Fuck you, Steel.” Pick up your mug again and take a sip. You make a face and curse. It’s gone cold.

He gives you one last look back as he leaves the room. Chen’s face is a careful blank. “If I see Ortega I’ll be sure to tell her you’re here.”

You don’t have to wait long before Ortega shows her face. Sauntering through the door, cool as anything just as you’re pulling your mug out of the microwave. “So. I won’t even ask what you two talked about.”

“It’s just Chen. Being an asshole.” You huff, staring her down, clutching your cocoa to your shawl.

“Sure. Chen was the problem.” There’s a quiet, knowing smile on her face and it makes your heart hurt. She knows this song and dance just as well as you do. “I’m sure that’s it.”

“W–whatever. Believe me or don’t.”

“Hey, I’m pretty much done for today so…” She jerks her thumb to the door. “What do you say we get out of here?”

You groan. “God, yes.”

* * *

The Los Diablos beach is more stone than sand. One of the many lasting scars of the disaster that killed Los Angeles, a city you’ve only seen in photographs and old movies. When you first came here over a decade ago, the bay still had the metal skeletons of ruined buildings rising out of the sea. It looks like they’ve finally cleared them all out now.

“Are you okay?” It’s Ortega’s fault you’re out here. You don’t know what to make of that. The ocean carries a cool salt breeze. In the fall air, it’s almost cold.

You don’t understand, don’t understand your own body’s reaction to her. How all your higher reasoning seems to go out the window around her. Is what is was like before? Were you always this bad around Ortega or is this a new development? So many frayed, half-forgotten memories, and which ones are even real rather than desperate dreams?

You can’t afford to be like this, can’t afford to lose control.

You lost control and broke Herald’s leg. Lost control and didn’t properly finish Charge off. Lost control and got shown up by Argent. You’re going to fall prey to the same problems you’ve watched countless other villains fall to. At this rate you won’t even last long enough to register as a blip in the steamroller the Directive has poised to flattened all dissenters

Fuck.

“Ari!” Ortega snaps her fingers and the sound makes you jerk your head towards her, startled out of your brooding. “Are you okay?” She’s watching you, brows knit in worry, and you feel sick.

You wince, “I’m fine,” shoot a glance in her direction, “really.”

“Uh-huh. Liar.” She shifts position, leaning against the guard rail, moves a little closer to you. “What are you thinking about so hard?” The sun’s right in her face, lighting her up. Is she frowning or squinting, you’re not sure.

You pull your head away from her, stare out across the water. “I don’t know.” You run your hands up your arms, even under all the fabric you can make out the little bumps and divots from the scars.

“You don’t know?” Ortega taps you on the shoulder with the back of her hand. A fleeting touch but it makes your heart jump.

“W-would you rather I lied?” You stretch your face into a smile.

Ortega doesn’t have an answer for that. Stares out over the water. You follow her gaze. The way the waves crest and break against the rocks. It wasn’t that long ago you were out there. Water filling through a puncture in your suit. Air supply compromised. Could have drowned then. You didn’t.

But you could have.

“It’s okay.” Ortega’s hand presses into your shoulder and you freeze up. “It’s over. We’re still here.”

“What?” You breathe out.

“The Nano-surge?” Ortega points across the bay with her other hand. The crest of land, still oddly clear of anything but grass and shrubs. “Ten years this year. We just passed the anniversary. It’s been in the news a lot.”

You blink, try to relax. “Oh.” Swallow down the tightness in your throat.

Truthfully, you haven’t paid much attention unless it concerns you or a future target. It takes less effort than you’d like to get sucked back there. To hear Elysie screaming. The shifting of the ground under everyone’s feet as it literally dissolved into a silver dust. And now you carry a piece of it with you. A sword to point at your enemies, at the entire world.

“Oh…” You try to clear your throat, “Can you believe it?”

That gets a laugh from her. She takes her hand from your shoulder and rubs the sleeve of her arm, the one you know must still have patches of mismatched skin where the grafts didn’t take correctly. “I really thought that was it for me…”

Something in your chest twists and you have to rub at your eye. “I’m glad I saved you back then.” You say, and to your surprise find it’s still true.

“Yeah, me too.”

“I still get nosebleeds sometimes.” You admit, surprising yourself. “Not as often… but ever since then.”

“Yeah?” Ortega moves closer to you, shoulders touching. So close. Too close. “Have you ever thought to see a doctor about it?”

“Ortega, please,” you arch an eyebrow, the smile on your face turning genuine. “Have you met me?”

“Ah-hah, the real reason you retired: fear of doctors.”

You laugh. “You’ve found me out.” Without really thinking about it you press your shoulder back against hers. Enjoy the warmth of the falling sun against the cool of the salt air. “You ought to think about it too.”

“What? Retire?”

“There’s plenty of other people that could save the world, you know.” You bite your lip. “It doesn’t have to be you.” You wish she’d stop. Let it go. Don’t.. don’t put herself in danger like that again.

“Hah. Well.” Ortega straightens up, pulling away from you. “I think saving the entire world might be beyond my pay grade…” She steals a glance at you from the corner of her eye. “I’ll be happy if I can just save people.”

You turn away from her, shift down on the railing. “What about stopping them?” You can feel the railing shift as she turns to you but you don’t look back.

“You know there’s only one I care about.”

“Really.”

“Well, alright.” She sighs. “There’s Hollow Ground and then there’s Ghost.”

“Banshee.” You correct her.

She blinks. “They changed their name again?”

Oh.

Shit.

You shrug, try to play it off like it was nothing and steal a glance at her. “That’s what the paper said this morning.” You force a laugh, smiling at the ocean. Have to play this cool. “Ghost was kind of stupid name anyway, wasn’t it?”

“Whatever they go by,” You can feel Ortega’s eyes on the side of your face. “They need to be stopped.”

“But–” you swallow the words in your throat, try again, “but why does it need to be you?”

Ortega’s gaze is still boring a hole through you. “They made it personal.”

You close your eyes, try not to think about her looking at you. “It doesn’t – it doesn’t have to be. There’s other heroes, and – and – and it didn’t go well for you the last time.” You grip the railing tight, rub your hands against the metal. “I worry about you.”

“You don’t need to.” You open your eyes and she’s smiling at you, confident, and there’s something about her eyes, wrinkles casting a shadow in the sun. Whatever seven years might have done to Ortega, it hasn’t damaged her ability to look stunning in the spotlight.

You collapse against the railing, chin on metal. “I keep trying to… to tell myself, and it hasn’t helped.”

“You don’t have to protect me,” she laughs. “When did you get to be such a mom?”

You groan, a sound that turns into more an anguished noise than you had intended. “You don’t – you don’t get it.”

Everything she’s ever worked for: a lie. A lie you need to destroy, burn down to the ground. Yourself included. What would she do if you came clean right now? Right here? Zap you and turn you back in? Kill you? If you really believed she’d actually kill you, maybe you’d tell her. Let her do the thing you keep chickening out of. Take the choice out of your hands.

“You keep saying I don’t get it, Ari.” Ortega’s voice dips, hurt? Serious? “So, explain. Talk to me. Make me get it. Please.” Ortega’s voice by your ear is too much. You’ve got to… you’ve got to move. Get out. If only it was as simple as running away.

You test the railing in your hand. “W-why don’t we, uh, why don’t we walk?” You glance behind you, then up and down the promenade. No obvious witnesses you can detect. You vault over the railing and pick your way down across the rocks of the jetty. Behind you, the sounds of Ortega scrabbling over the railing after you.

“Not planning on a swim, I hope.” Ortega picks her way from stone to stone after you.

You shake your head, glance back while you let her catch up. “I don’t swim,” not in this body, “I– I just wanted privacy.”

Ortega looks at you, not quite smiling, not quite frowning. The wind pulls at your hair, clothes. “Not much more private than this, ‘less you count the seagulls.”

You take a breath, try to steady yourself. “Look Ortega, I – I…”

You wilt, look away. This isn’t the time. Sooner or later you’ll have to give up this delusion but you can’t bring yourself to jump just yet. Just… Just a little longer. One more day even. “I have my reasons. I’m sorry. I– I can’t talk about it.”

Ortega watches as you carefully balance yourself from one rock to the next, the wind blowing your shawl around your body in waves that mimic the sea. “Not ever?”

You wince. “N-n-not yet.”

“So… someday then?”

You grit your teeth, hop rocks, teeter for a second. “D-don’t push your luck, Ortega.”

She hops to a rock next to you, flashes you a smile. “And why not?”

“One day you’ll…” You pause to pull your shawl tighter against yourself. “You’ll get more than you can handle.”

“You’d have to start talking to me first.” Ortega sounds tired as she says it, and something in your heart or your gut or both twists at the tone of her voice.

“I’m– I’m talking.” You hold your shawl shut tight, wrapped around you.

She catches your eye, tries on a smile. “It’s a start.” She holds out a hand towards you. “Well. Since we’re here, and we’re talking, I suppose I should tell you…”

You look at her hand, then up at her face, the smug smile slowly starting to grow there. “What?”

“I’d really like to kiss you.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“What?” She raises an eyebrow. “Am I not sexy enough without 36 stitches and having lost a pint of blood first?”

You can feel the heat in your face. “Th–th–that’s not it! I mean…” A jumble of words gets caught in your throat and for a moment you open your mouth and no sound comes out.

Ortega laughs, “You okay there, Ari?”

You take a breath, glare at her. “Don’t make me push you.”

She puts a hand to her chest in mock shock. “My Ari?” –You heart skips a beat– “Never.” She offers her hand, shaking it. “Well?”

A dozen different alarm bells are screaming in your head in all the ways this is even worse an idea than last time. “F-f-f-fine.” You take her hand, letting your shawl flap loose in the breeze again. And you’ve jumped the ledge. “M-maybe I’d.. I’d like that.”

Ortega laughs, “Ariadne!” You could cry at the way she says your name if you weren’t already straining to hold yourself together. “I’m not going to shoot you.” She hops onto your rock.

“Just. Shut up.” You hiss, face burning. You grab her shoulders as she pushes against you. To steady her or yourself? Both?

It’s a soft inhalation of breath and then warmth against you, every point of contact a spark demanding your attention. Hand on your back, neck, lips too close to yours. You cling to her as it gets harder to stand.

Swallow back panic. Swallow back memories of white. You are stronger than it now. You have to be. What was the point of all this otherwise? “If… If you drop me–”

She pulls you in, barely audible over the city and the waves. “I won’t. Never.”


	15. there's no turning back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ortega’s gravity is pulling you back into everything you can’t have. The fantasy that anyone would care about you is as seductive as it is destructive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [In Undertow] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1n72aCdwdU)

#  [The end is coming ‘round](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/314JHhYqFjuAwham8xpMKk?si=Wfk16oDuQ7iEQzhTr3zLdw)

## there’s no turning back

It’s unsettling how quickly routine can develop, and with it familiarity. As the days turn into weeks turn into first one month then another. It’s not falling back into old habits, not exactly. But then again, it’s hard to tell sometimes. Volunteer work with Ortega, splitting weeks between the hospital and soup kitchen. It’s starting to feel… normal.

Was Ortega always this warm? Always this quick to touch, to catch your hand, to smile or frown? Were you always so quick to do the same?

It doesn’t feel right. Like… any moment god, or… something like it will realize the mistake and cast you down. Punish you for daring to feel like this.

You’d deserve it.

After all, you’re double-dipping. First as Jane, Ortega’s girlfriend, and again as Ariadne, that ghost from the past that just refuses to die. What game, exactly, Ortega is playing here you’re not sure. But in the five years you knew her, for all the relationships and flings she might have gone through, not once did she cheat. So… You must be reading her wrong right? How she is behaving to Ariadne?

If it’s not dating then what is it?

Wishful thinking or, maybe it’s a bleed over in perception or, or, or, something, anything to explain it away. Attraction – to this body? With it’s deformities and branding and everything twisted and wrong. It’s not – it’s not possible.

And then you think about the beach and –

Oh, you idiot. Why did you do that?

Why did Ortega do that?

Kiss you.

Repeatedly.

Finger to your lips, the memory of her mouth on yours is like a ghost. Electric and heart racing. Just thinking about it again and you can feel your face warm as you stare out the window. Want to pull your shawl up over your head and melt into a puddle. Shouldn’t be smiling like this. This is messed up. It’s wrong. God, are you crazy? Have you lost your entire fucking mind? This is… it’s _you_ we’re talking about here. There’s no fucking way she would… right?

Goddammit this is making your head hurt.

The break room door swings up and you scramble to your feet, arms swinging wildly as you struggle to keep your balance. For a moment coming out of your reverie there’s the assumption it must be Ortega coming in but – no, your awareness brushes the mind seconds before you turn and see her. All sharks and barbed wire.

“L– lady Argent. Um. Hi.”

She narrows her eyes, looking you up and down. “Waiting for Herald?”

Have to swallow the lump in your throat, battle back the nausea. “Um. H–herald? Yeah.” You shrug, avoiding her eyes. Actually Ortega had asked you for advice on something. But you’re not about to disabuse Argent of her assumption. She thinks you’re a wash-up and a has-been. And if your inability to stare her in the face and acknowledge what you’ve done contributes to that, well, that works out just fine, doesn’t it?

“Hrm.” Argent frowns, “That’s right, you’re giving him pointers or something? Whatever,” she shrugs and turns towards the fridge. Yanks open the door with no small amount of force. “Not my problem. As long as he stays out of my hair, we’re good.”

Okay. This seems like a safe enough subject. You can do this, Ariadne.

“He’s… um.” You falter as Argent turns to look at you again, a box of cold rice in one hand. “He’s got no idea how to use his boost in a–a–a fight. I’m having to… to um, start from well, from square one.”

“Well, maybe if he had ever _listened_ to me, he wouldn’t have beefed it.” Argent scowls. “He should just carry a damn gun already. Could just fly around people’s cover.”

“Do… do you really think Herald is the type of person to, uh, well, um… carry a _gun_?”

She rolls her eyes, pulling into a seat. “Of course you would take his side. Bleeding hearts.”

You blink at that. “W–what?” You? A bleeding heart? You have to keep your face blank. Fight to not laugh at the idea.

She points a chopstick at you, “You heard me.”

When you don’t immediately respond she shifts focus to the rice, shoveling it into her mouth. You… should get out of here. If Herald still wants to train this week he has your number. Well, he has _a_ number of yours.

Being alone in a room with Lady Argent is near the very bottom of the list of things you want to be. It’s hard enough facing her when you’re in your armor. At least Ghost – Banshee now, you remind yourself – has some sort of rivalry building that gives you a framing to work with. Just as yourself, as Ariadne the has–been… it’s too… too…

Whatever – Don’t think about it. You’re going to have nightmares tonight as it is, anyway.

Quietly you slowly meander around the perimeter of the break room and make your exit. Argent doesn’t stop you. Barely even thinks of you. If you’re lucky, you’ll stay that way. A bug beneath her notice.

As tempting as it is, you don’t really have the trust, or the cover, to go snooping around. You’ll just find a conference room or something to hold up in. Ortega will message or call or whatever whim strikes her when she can’t find you. She’s certainly never been shy about hunting you down.

“–you. There’s something going on here.”

Oooooor the snooping could come to you. You hang back. Shut the door to a conference room. Can only pick up one mind on the other side but– static. Ortega? Ortega and… Chen? Can feel your stomach twist.

“Your opinion is noted, but your personal feelings are clouding your judgement on this Ortega.” Chen. Yep, that’s Chen alright.

“It doesn’t fit the MO, or anything we know about motive. Why spend all that work only to flush it away?” Ortega. She sounds frustrated. Raising her voice. You can just imagine the static electricity crawling up her arms, discharge triggered by the stress in her hands.

“You know as well as I do that these things can change as a villain settles in. Maybe the change of name was meant to be a tip off.”

Name change? They’re not talking about…? You can feel your breath catch in your throat.

“And we’ve seen that. Compare how mouthy they’ve gotten to their debut. Come on, Wei. Think this through. Someone else is using them as cover. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“...the jury is still out on that one. And saving bystanders to the assassination attempt would still fit the profile we’ve built.” There’s a pause. “No, I’m not convinced.” Chen’s voice drops. The two of them continue to argue, muffled by the door. Skimming his thoughts doesn’t give you much more to work with. If the Rangers still can’t figure out what exactly Banshee’s deal is, that’s fine with you. The longer they spend guessing, the longer you have to build your strength.

The doorknob turns and you jump back, biting your lip. Ortega catches your eyes as she steps out. Momentary surprise is washed away with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I got a little heated there.”

“I – I wasn’t–” You cough, face red. “I wasn’t uh, trying to eavesdrop I just… Argent kicked me out of the break room so, well, um…”

“Ari, you’re fine.” Ortega laughs, a hand on your shoulder guiding you away from the conference room. “Actually, I wanted to ask your opinion on the whole thing so it’s fine.”

“It – it is?”

“Not here though. Com’on, let’s go to my office.”

“I’m… not in trouble am I?”

Ortega gives you a wry look. “Not yet. Why? Looking to make some?”

You offer an uneasy smile back. “I’ll be good.”

* * *

“So.. what’s the deal?” You settle into your chair as Ortega takes the one by the computer. You watch as she grabs some papers off the desk shuffling through them.

“I wanted your opinion on Banshee.”

You frown, folding your arms against your chest under your shawl. Thank god for that shawl. No one can see the sweat dripping down your armpits. “Ghost?”

Ortega gives you a curious look. “Banshee, remember?”

“No, I knew that.” You correct her before you can stop yourself. “I mean, uh – why ask me?” You sigh. “I thought I had made my feelings on all this pretty clear.”

“I think that makes it all the more important.” Ortega whispers.

“Huh?” You didn’t hear that right, did you?

“Do you think they’re a killer?”

You stare at her. “Wh–what do you mean?”

“You know, Mayor Alavrez’s personal aide?” Ortega offers, “Has kind of an anti-corruption bent to him?”

Ochoa had been priming Vanderpoel as an informant for a big expose on City Hall corruption. You’d been hoping to keep him around as a pawn to push against the Mayor when election season rolled around. Did the Rangers suspect something there?

You blink and tilt your head. One hand finds itself digging into your leg, tracing patterns. “I... “ You laugh, “Ortega, who keeps up on that kind of stuff?”

“Argent says she interrupted Banshee in middle of… doing something with Mayor Alavrez’s aide.”

“So…?”

“There was that hit job on Marconi, and Banshee took a hostage in that last fight with Argent.” Ortega pauses, you steal a quick glance at her face only for the weight of her gaze to force your eyes away again.

“Fuck.”

“Ariadne…?” Ortega furrows her brow.

“No, I just – What are you asking?” You sigh. A long, drawn-out exhale as you run your hands through your hair. You look back up and find Ortega’s brown eyes searching your face.

“You always had a knack for knowing what the bad guys were thinking, Ari.” There’s a strange evenness to her voice. It takes the sharp pain of your fingernails digging into your thigh to keep you present.

“That’s – Ortega, that was a long time ago.” You force a laugh. “And – and anyway…” Your stomach twists. “Is it really that much of a mystery? Banshee already killed that uh, Macaroni guy. You can’t really turn back from that.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

You furrow your brow, biting the inside of your cheek. Not so sure? Not so sure of _what_? Banshee killing Marconi had been a cut and dry story all over the news. And it’s not like you were able to save him, just because you weren’t responsible for the explosion didn’t make you any less guilty.

Ortega sighs, “And now this thing with Alavrez’s aide. Argent was on the scene as fast as she could, but Banshee had plenty of opportunity to kill him if that had been the goal.”

What was it you overheard her and Chen talk about? Someone else using Banshee for cover? Cover for what? Obviously they’re both mistaken, but what exactly _does_ Ortega think is going on here?

Ortega leans back in her chair, blowing air through her lips. “Chen says I’m too close, so… what do you think?”

You stare at her, point a hand at your chest. “What do I think?”

“Did Banshee kill Marconi?”

“I – I’m sorry, did I miss something? When did that become the question?”

"Let’s just say the evidence doesn’t line up as well as the official story would have you believe.”

Your eyes widen at that. That’s a normal enough reaction for someone completely innocent right? Your heart is pounding in your chest and you can feel the sweat on your armpits. “I… Okay. I guess… putting that particular… attack aside,” You force yourself to meet Ortega’s eyes. “I mean, well. Does she – them – _they_ , do they seem like the… the type, to uh well, do that?” This is crazy. It’s one thing to be getting insider gossip, it’s another to be walking a tightrope over a pit full of live alligators. “They’ve uh, they’ve had… plenty of opportunities. Why kill just that one guy?”

“Maybe Marconi wouldn’t give them something they wanted?”

“That’s… possible.” You have to concede. “But…” You’re playing with fire here. Need to be dead careful with your words. “You think they’re a telepath, right?”

Ortega nods.

“So… like, even if someone decides they don’t want to, uh, to talk anymore. If this… criminal is as powerful a telepath as you think, I don’t know if that would be a barrier?”

“What do you mean?”

“I–I–I mean, well – As long as someone’s alive, you can work with that. Uh. Mentally speaking. You can’t… can’t get thoughts from a corpse.”

Ortega drums her fingers against her chin, staring over your shoulder at the unfinished wall. “That’s kind of creepy.”

Oh god. Oh christ. How did you get yourself into this mess?

“That’s… just my guess?” You have to take a breath, swallow the bile back. It’s a struggle not to let the tension show any more than it already is. “And… it’s not like I’ve kept up the past couple years. Maybe I’m completely off base. But… I don’t think there’s anything Banshee would have to gain from killing these guys.”

“So you think they _would_ kill somebody?”

“I… I didn’t say that!” You sit up, waving your hand. “I–I–I don’t know what they’re thinking.”

“Ari?”

You look up, “S–sorry.” You bunch up your hands, shrinking into your seat. “I’m a little out of it already.”

Ortega’s expression changes, a different kind of concern. “Are you sleeping okay?”

“Um…” You chew your cheek, look away from her to stare at the blank whiteboard. “No. Uh… Therapy.” You throw the word out there with a shrug. “It’s been… it’s been hard. Digging things up.” Not a complete lie. You rub your head, plaster a smile back on your face. “Sorry, sorry. Um. Let’s focus on this… Banshee mess?”

“I guess it depends on what their agenda actually is.”

“Yeah.”

“They definitely seem to have some sort of political bent to their attacks.” Ortega glances at you from the corner of her eye. “It’s making a lot of suits very nervous.”

“For their lives or their careers?”

That gets a small smirk. “Soon it’s gonna be both.”

“That’s… fair.” You’re not sure your smile is as genuine as you’d like. Who’s trying to undermine you? Once was coincidence but twice makes a pattern. It’s enough to make your skin crawl. You need to be more careful. Maybe it’s time to drop Rosie, as helpful as having her around is. Up your OpSec.

Fuck – you’re zoning out again. You scan the run, looking for something to distract the conversation with. “Who’s that?” You nod towards the photo taped to the frame of Ortega’s computer monitor.

“Who?” She spins around in her chair. “Oh. That.” She looks back at you, embarrassed? “A reminder, that’s all.”

“Reminder?” You tilt your head.

“I… may have punched a reporter at your funeral. I’m surprised you didn’t already know?” She pries the photograph off it’s tape backing and hands it over to you. A newspaper clipping it looks like. Somebody’s byline. Vernon Browne? “He was an asshole.” Ortega sighs, a scowl settling over the embarrassment. “A real asshole. I quit the next week. They were going to fire me otherwise.”

“I had a funeral?” The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Ortega makes a face like you just slapped her. “Of course you had one. Ari, why wouldn’t you? I told you when we met.”

“S–sorry. I just… never thought about it.” Things like you don’t ‘get’ funerals. You’re disposable. Break down into parts and re-use whatever’s still good. “I… uh. I didn’t really… think anyone cared.”

“Ari–” Ortega blinks hard. You can tell she’s barely restraining herself from touching you. “Of course people cared. A… lot of people cared. About both of you.”

Both?

Anathema.

Fuck.

You rub at your face.

“We didn’t have a body for either of you, but that didn’t mean we were just… just going to forget about you.” Ortega looks away, balling her hands into fists. Little sparks crawling up her arms. “And then this _pendejo_ shows up with all these… weird accusations. At your goddamn funeral and, and…”

Have to keep your face blank. “...accusations…?”

“He was a conspiracy nut. Ranted about all kinds of crazy things.” Ortega throws her hands in the air. “I don’t remember even half of the nonsense he shouted. But it – it was your goddamn funeral and he wouldn’t shut up and…”

“So you… punched him?”

“I’d have kicked his teeth in too if Wei hadn’t grabbed me. Still broke his nose. Ortega shakes her head. “He had a _time_ of it, reading me the hospital bill.”

“Chen’s an asshole.”

“So are we all.” Ortega takes the picture back from you, sticks it back to the monitor. “Anyway, he retired not long after. But I keep the picture around. It’s a reminder.”

You watch Ortega’s face, the shift in her body language. Sometimes she seems as energetic and gung-ho as she was seven years ago. And other times, like right now, you can really see the weight of middle-age starting to settle into her. “A reminder?”

“Not to let my emotions get the better of me like that again.”

You frown. “So… when Wei said you were too close…”

“Yeah.” Ortega frowns with you, raises a hand up to rub the back of her neck.

“Well…” Your voice feels small, drowning into the empty walls as you stare at your lap. “I think… maybe your hunch is right.”

“Thanks.” Her hand finds your knee. You let it stay there.


	16. everything and nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Funding a one-woman revenge mission isn’t cheap. You might work for free but Rosie doesn’t. Or Mortum. Or Marcie. The list goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Feed Me Diamonds] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cvbUSZt3YsM)
> 
> [ [The Dead Mouse At Your Doorstep] ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19248565)

##  everything and nothing

It was the incident at Joes that gave you the initial idea: you need money to fund your operation. And where is flush with – conveniently untraceable – funds, but Los Diablos’s criminal underground?

Using Jane’s luck to gamble your way through the casino circuit would be suicide. She’d end up in a ditch or worse. But you don’t need to. You’ve got a state-of-the-art power armor suit.

In a way, it’s a return to the old days, to being Sidestep. You could never manage to hold down a job back then, but the guilt over skimming kept you from being able to afford much of anything. So, you know, occasionally when busting a villain’s lair or rounding up drug dealers, maybe some of their funds were… misplaced. It was either that or starve.

Or worse, admit your situation to somebody and ask for help.

But it wasn’t really stealing, was it? The money was probably wrongfully gotten to begin with. And it’s not like the city _paid_ vigilantes.

Whatever. You were stealing the whole time. You can admit it to yourself now. It doesn’t matter who it was from. It was still theft. You’ve always been a liar and a fraud. Those last moments before throwing yourself out a fourth-story window crystalized it for you. People lauding Sidestep as some sort of ‘hero’ when she was barely any better than the people she beat up. She just stuck to the government approved list of acceptable targets.

But if you did it before, you can do it again. You know who the real villains are, and it’s not Larry Ray selling weed at the corner of Market Street.

Once more now, _with feeling_.

Check the seal on your helmet. The Rat-King curls around you. Paul Howard Koch’s penthouse is in the heart of the city. Technically not inside the bounds of Los Diablos proper itself. More a richie-rich enclave. Great view, above the air pollution, slightly less likely to die in a horrific one-two earthquake/tsunami punch.

To his neighbors on the floors above and below, Mr. Koch is a reclusive retired businessman who made his fortune in the early days of the chaos following the establishment of the Free Economic Zone over southern California. Back when anything really did fly.

And maybe there’s a truth in that.

Or maybe he’s just a self-hyped boost with magnetic powers with the audacity to hide in plain sight who robbed a bunch of banks and also maybe the Rangers HQ one time and _okay_ okay fine, maybe there’s an element of revenge to tonight, so what?

Start with the small ones.

Work your way up.

Getting inside is easy enough. It reminds you of Marconi’s mansion that way. Amazing how much security is just theatre. Wall? Climb over. Guards? Walk between the patrols. CCTV? Oh, what a shame, the woman watching fell asleep at her desk, and oh, the whole system needs to be rebooted now? Technology these days, tsk tsk.

The building doesn’t even have dampeners.

Closing the door to the camera room, you let your hand linger on the doorknob. It takes some finesse to control the Nanovores this tightly but you’re able to collapse the mechanism. They’ll have to break the door down.

You’ve got two targets today. Koch, and his fortune. You know where Koch is. He’s up in his bedroom, half-asleep watching TV. Play the right notes, and he’ll stay that way until you need him.

So, then, where’s the goods?

It’s been, what, a decade since Pennybags was active. Had a big spree robbing banks, culminating in an attack on Rangers HQ. You were – Sidestep was still pretty new to the scene, but even she knew it took some guts to pants the Rangers like that. And then he was never heard from again.

Almost have to admire the restraint of the man. To realize he peaked and it was time to get out. Can’t say it’s an example you intend to follow.

The penthouse is a split-level deal. Whole lot of empty space for a man who lives alone. The second floor and you find his office. Very fancy looking computer. And of course, there’s the password in the middle drawer. Man’s gotten lax. You plug in a USB stick as you log in. Search through the files. Records, transactions. Looks like Mr. Koch has been _busy_ in his ‘retirement.’ Blackmail material? Not the pile of cash you were aiming for but it’s something to start with. Another crack in the city’s shell. Another point of attack.

One file name catches your attention: Regenerator sale? It’s been awhile since you’ve gotten a lead on that name, and here it is. Just waiting for you. Opening the file and it’s a text document. At first glance there doesn’t seem to be much you don’t already know. PharmaCore, shut down by the government, confiscated, then ‘vanished.’ Oh, here’s something new: an actual description of what it does…

Ugh. There’s no time to stand here and parse all this. You copy everything that looks even remotely promising and move on to the rest of the room.

An oddly spaced bookshelf, by the window, draws your attention. Push the texts away and there’s a safe. Have to smile at that. At least it’s not behind a portrait. The metal melts into dust under the Nanovores and you’re free to reach inside. A gun, some rolled up hundred dollar bills and a collection of black unmarked USB looking bits of plastic and silicon.

Jackpot.

DS Chips. Or ‘Dark Script’ if you want to be wordy. Criminal computer scientists are disappointingly lacking in imagination. Physical bills can be traced by serial number, and digital transactions through bank and credit systems. Cryptocurrencies like these DS chips are the current fashion du jour for avoiding surveillance.

The exchanges aren’t cheap, and Hollow Ground keeps a tight grip on Los Diablos’s little corner. But attach a ‘wallet’ to a specific chip and you carry thousands of dollars in a little box of plastic and silicone smaller than your palm.

That’s business sorted then.

Time for the pleasure half.

When you reach the bedroom, you don’t need to kick the door in. The hinges disintegrate into dust and it falls over, all on it’s own. The crash against the floor breaks Koch out of his stupor. With a cry of alarm he scrambles to his feet, tripping on his own night robe.

“Evening, Pennybags.”

“Who the _blazes_ let you in here?” His heart is pounding. Scenarios running through his mind. Scrambling for an answer. Really? You’d have expected someone a little more paranoid.

You fold your hands behind your back. Nod towards the door. “I did.”

He narrows his eyes, not seeing the humor. Oh well, his loss.

You’re on him before he can even finish his thought about using his power on you. Is enough of the suit metal for it to be a problem? You’re not sure and you’d rather not find out. His head cracks against the wall as you shove him up off the ground with an arm against his neck.

You tap your head. “Don’t even think about it.”

He doesn’t stop struggling. Bare feet kicking against your armor. Up close he doesn’t look as old as you pictured. Bald, sure. But… how old is he? Maybe he just has one of those faces. “You’re–” He wheezes, “you’re going to regret this.”

He’s already plotting your death. Cute. Have to laugh. “I’ll add it to the list.”

...now what are you going to do?

Maybe you should have thought of that _before_ barging in here.

You press against his neck a little harder. Not enough to choke him, but to give you some room to think.

“Alright… Here’s what’s going to happen,” You growl, lacing your words with a telepathic push. An urgency to be followed.

It’s not mind control, not technically.

Just a push.

You’re not even going to make him jump out a window.

* * *

You don’t need to hear the stomping of boots in the hallway to know your time is almost up. You drop Koch to the floor. “Consider what we’ve talked about tonight.” Walking over to his desk, you rip off a piece of his day planner and turn it over. Write out the list of instructions.

Three simple suggestions. They’re in his own best interest, really.

You return to him, holding the paper out to take. He hesitates so you reach into his mind and give him a push before stepping away. By the time the riot police show up the scrap paper is gone, inside his pocket. You watch the police fill the other end of the room, shields up and guns drawn. The idiots. They’ll kill Koch if they shoot like this.

You don’t see or sense any of the Rangers.

That’s fine with you, if maybe a little strange. The man in charge steps forward, hand on the trigger finger. “Ghost, you’re under arrest. We have you surrounded.” You don’t need to read his mind to know from the look on his face and the way he’s holding his gun that he’s seriously regretting coming in to work tonight. What does the LDPD think they’re doing? They’re no match for you. Sure, you aren’t immune to bullets, but when has that ever stopped you?

You reach out to the captain’s mind and coax him to lower his gun before he sets off the whole room. “Ghost?” You fake a laugh, the distortion hollowing it out, then say innocently, “Don’t know anyone by that name.”

You crouch down, bracing yourself, placing a hand on the floor. You’ll only have a second before the tension of the situation wakes them up again. “More of a Banshee.” There’s a moment where it seems like nothing is going to happen and then the Nanovores eat a hole in the floor directly beneath you, dropping you down. You grunt, letting the armor absorb most of the shock, though the landing still plays hell on your knees. Going to regret that in the morning.

Above you the room erupts in shouts of alarm and someone fires their gun, setting off another gunshot, then another. You grimace in frustration and, telepathically reach back up to give them a metaphorical shake of the shoulders. You can’t have them killing your new informant.

You break into a run, following your thread to the nearest elevator shaft and breaking the door open with a mixture of force and Nanovores. As you make your escape sliding down the elevator cable you can’t help humming a few bars aloud as you try to steady your nerves.

The chittering of the Rat-King creates an accompaniment in the back of your head.

It’s getting scary just how comfortable with this life you’re starting to get.

Hitting the basement level you barely manage to clear the doors when Lady Argent is on you, all knives and quicksilver. Her claws dig into your arm before you’re able to get her to back off with an uppercut to the head. Argent flexes her jaw and gives you a predatory grin. “I had a feeling I’d find you down here Ghost.”

You study her face, waiting for a sign of any sudden movement. Getting out predicted like this is embarrassing but you need to save the over-analysis for when a woman capable of opening you up like a can-opener isn’t staring you down. You’ve got to reassert control of the situation. You make sure to put an edge to your voice, “It’s Banshee now. If you’re going to play lap dog, at least remember to fill in the incident report form correctly this time.”

Her eyes widen and then Argent leans down, her grin deepening into a scowl. “Ugh. I don’t care,” and she moves in.

Can feel your heart in your throat as the two of you exchange blows. When you try to slide past her, Lady Argent is ready for you, raking claws against the side of your armor, trying to find a point of purchase to pry you apart. Grab her wrist and pull her down on top of you. It’s a stupid move, and you pay for it with razor filings running down your sides but because it’s stupid she doesn’t expect it and you’re able to knee her in the gut and kick her away.

You hate fighting Argent in enclosed spaces like this. It’ll be a game of attrition as to whether you can get away before she can land a clean hit. The two of you are back to circling each other when you bump up against a support pillar.

Maybe….? You mentally check your map.

You’ll need to stall Argent. “So, what was your plan, if I went a different route?” As you talk you rest your hand on the concrete pillar beside you, coaxing the Nanovores to get to work. “Not a good look, hiding in a basement.”

Lady Argent narrows her eyes, “The Handyman’s watching the front door.”

“He’s out of the hospital now?” You sigh. “Are you really _that_ eager to put him back in there?”

There’s a shark-toothed grin and the distinct feeling that she’s sizing you up. “You’re awfully concerned for being the bastard that put him there.”

“Healthcare’s not cheap in this city. Should we hold a fundraiser for him?” You give a theatrical flip of your free hand. “Any suggestions?” Too flippant? You’re never really sure how to approach Argent.

There’s always the temptation; in the back of your head. Let her know who you are, what you’ve done. See if she’ll kill you. But you always end up holding back. Why is that? You don’t understand yourself.

“My only ‘suggestion’ is bringing you to justice.” She keeps her focus trained on you, ready for the moment you make a move. Part of you is surprised she’s still letting you talk. Is backup on the way? That’s not Argent’s style.

“That’s a good thought about justice.” You rap your armored fingers against the pillar, testing to see if it’s hollowed out yet. “But who gets to decide what justice is?”

Would Argent feel bad, if she did kill you? Or would it just make things worse for her? How do you atone for something like this? Is revenge justice? Is it really enough to just make someone hurt?

You used to be sure.

“I liked you better when you didn’t talk.”

You tsk. “Oh and now you’re hurting my feelings?” You can’t keep operating like this. Need to compartmentalize better. Remember the goal. Remember revenge. The damage to Argent is done. Don’t fuck this up and make it be in vain.

Argent eyes your hand, still pressed to the pillar, and growls. “What are you up to?”

“Are you talking about, in general or just right now?” You smirk under your helmet. “Care to find out?” You push hard against the concert. The stone breaks like glass and the ceiling sags from the sudden lack of support, tiles crashing down around you. You jump backwards as the ceiling starts to give in.

No time for any last-minute taunts. You book it for the sewer entrance before Argent can realize the whole building isn’t going to collapse.

In the back of your head, she's still there, watching through the dust.

Smile like a shark.

Reminding.

* * *

“So, this isn’t what I had planned on talking about; but you’ll never guess what happened last night.” Ortega looks at you, leaning in, an edge to her smile. The two of you are meeting for an early lunch before heading up to the Children’s Hospital again.

You’d half a mind to order something alcoholic, but resisted. Instead, you’re watching Ortega over the rim of your milkshake, straw in your mouth. “Mm?”

“You remember Pennybags?”

You drum the side of the glass with your fingers, making a show of thinking back. “The magnetic guy?”

Ortega nods. “Yeah. Big bank robber, stole a bunch of things from the old Rangers HQ too, remember?”

You nod, grimacing. “Yeah, that was a mess.” Of course you remember. One of the few times you had actually seen Julia really upset. The first time actually. Didn’t know what to do, how to handle it. Ortega was always so confident, so in control of herself and the situation all the time. And there she was, tears and snot yelling at cardboard boxes about failing and… you did the only thing you could think of to do.

“Well, did you see the news this morning?” Ortega’s excitement pulls you back to the present. She leans in further over the table.

You sit back, shaking your head. “I was a little busy last night.” You wince, “This morning. I mean. Uh.” Shit shit shit. “Well. Both? Long night. Working.” You shrug, try to keep your face blank.

Ortega tilts her head, side-eyeing you. “Yeah, I still need to ask you about that job of yours.” She waves it off with a hand. “Anyway, Banshee made a mess again. North end of Beverly Hills this time.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Was anyone hurt?” You bite your lip, looking away. “Did… um. Did anyone else…?”

You _know_ Banshee didn’t kill anyone last night. But…

Don’t breathe, don’t relax until Ortega shakes her head, “One guy had some minor injuries, but that’s it.”

Oh thank god. “That’s a relief.” You match Ortega’s smile, swipe a fry from the basket in front of her.

“I’m more convinced than ever that Marconi’s murder was something else.”

“That’s…” You look away, watch the window, fingers worrying the fry in your hand. Shit. What do you say to that? Fuck fuck fuck. “If you say so.” You look back at her. Need to push this conversation along before she can think about that response. “So, uh, are you just this excited that no one was hurt or did the Rangers finally bring Banshee in, or – or what?”

“No, they got away. Again.” Ortega gives you a curious look, eyes flickering down to the fry in your hand and then back up to your face. With an air of deliberate purpose, you put the fry in your mouth. She politely doesn’t say anything.

“So then…?”

“You’ll never guess.”

You shrug, steal another fry. “Okay.”

She frowns. “Don’t be a spoilsport.”

You keep your face blank, only raising an eyebrow as you silently eat your ill-gotten prize.

“Fine.” She huffs. “The guy Banshee attacked, the one that had to go to the hospital… It’s Pennybags. Bastard was hiding under our noses the whole time.”

“Money’s a pretty good cover.”

“Believe me, I’m wildly aware.” The tired expression on Ortega’s face is only there for a brief second and then it’s gone. “He practically turned himself in. It was… kind of creepy, actually. Reading the report.”

You swallow, goosebumps on the back of your neck. “Creepy?”

“Like he felt… compelled.” Ortega jabs a fry in your direction. “You’re the expert, what do you think? Can telepathy force a confession like that?”

“Ortega…” You make yourself meet her eyes. “You’re as much of an expert as me, at uh, at this point. M–maybe more.”

“Maybe.” She meets your gaze. “But I want to know what you think.”

Goddamnit, why does she keep doing this?

You focus on the basket of fries instead, it’s safer. “It’s… possible.” You concede. Would it be better to lie? It already feels like you’re lying about so much. It’s better to minimize the amount of bullshit you have to keep track of. “How are you… sure it’s a confession, and not like… uh, a delusion or something? False suggestion?”

“Yeah, that’s fair. That was my first assumption but uh…” She lowers her voice. “We uh, we found some stuff when searching the apartment. The signed Marshall Hood figure Pennybags stole actually…”

“Oh.” You say. You hadn’t expected her to actually talk about this.

“I… don’t really have a lot left of him. I thought I’d lost that one for good.”

“I remember.” You remember seeing the front door of its hinges, running through wrecked room after room, finding an alarmingly sobbing Ortega.

The first time you willingly hugged someone.

“There’s maybe five people who know about that figure, Ari, and two of them are dead now.” Ortega’s voice is quiet, her hand on the table balled into a fist.

“Do…” You fish for an idea, “do you think they’re trying to send you a message?”

Ortega looks you straight in the face, half-eaten hamburger now completely forgotten. You wish she wouldn’t. “A message? For what?”

You look back, willing yourself not to look away, not to look guilty. “I don’t know… I mean, it’s no secret you and Hood were close, is it?”

The look on Ortega’s face only intensifies. “You think maybe it was a threat?”

Your face blanches, and you shake your head. This is not at all going how you thought it would. “I’m not in this game anymore, remember?” You shrug your shoulders theatrically, “for all I know it could be a love letter.” You freeze. Face threatening warmth. Oh god. What the fuck, Ariadne?

The absurdity of the idea gets a laugh out of Ortega and you both relax. “Mierda,” she shakes her head. “That’s a hell of a way to send a letter.”

You steal another fry. She lets you.


	17. your friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [i wanna be your girlfriend] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qCwlA7J56XY)

##  your friend

It’s a few weeks into October before you secure a reliable way to liquidate the cryptocurrency you lifted from Pennybags. In the meantime you manage to hit a few more villains, expanding your collection. Dreadnaught is a wanna-be business tycoon. He doesn’t have the financial sense of a garden slug though. If you hadn’t cleaned him out, someone else would have through some less direct means. No one has heard from Psychopathor since his capture by the Directive last year, a convenient secondary target. Combing through some of his old hideouts had turned up a few more funds.

It was a good plan. But now what?

You’ve spent so long skating by on the skin on your teeth and now you have… You check the balance for your shell company’s account. A cool eight million. All at once. It doesn’t feel like a real number. That’s not even all the cryptocurrency. You’re leaving some be, just in case you need it as is.

Okay.

Okay. You have to… treat this carefully. It’s still a limited resource. You only grabbed so much because you need the money to fund supplies and upkeep. Can’t let it get to your head. What would you even get anyway?

You push yourself away from your desk and stare up at the apartment ceiling. The ring of brown water damage that snakes across the room.

Nope. Can’t think of anything.

Your phone buzzes and you startle, almost falling out of the chair. The seat of the damn thing broke the other day from your inability to just sit like a normal person and now the whole thing’s out of balance. Need to remember to scavenge up a new one later this week.

Flailing hand finds the phone, slide and unlock. It’s a text message this time, not a call.

Huh.

From… Ortega.

Of course, who else? That’s right, you’re going to the Pasadena soup kitchen today. Maybe you can give them some of this money? Better filter it through like two more shell companies first just to be safe but yeah, that seems… feasible?

You turn the computer off and stand up. You can look into that later. Right now you need to get ready.

What do you dress as? Fuck damnit chickadee, don’t overthink this. Just – just dress normal. You’re doing work together. Volunteer work, but work. That’s all. Nothing more. Nothing else. Don’t mix up your relationship with Ortega for Jane’s, you idiot.

* * *

Carol is polite enough to hide her disappointment that Ortega is just here to help you organize the donations. Ortega, for her part, doesn't offer anything more. She seems happy enough to follow your lead. That feels weird. Almost familiar, but hell if you can remember familiar of _what_.

“You – uh, you sure you’re okay with this?” You glance across the box of canned beans. “I know it’s… not as glamorous as reading to sick kids.”

Ortega stands at the other end of the storage room, sorting through types of soup. She glances up from the can in her hand, flashing you a smile. “I’m good. It’s nice to get out of the public eye for awhile.”

You raise your eyebrows at that, smiling back despite yourself. “Well you f–found the expert.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” She grins at you, flashing teeth.

“S–shut-up!” You duck your head back down. Focus on beans. Not Ortega. That’s why you’re here. Sorting beans. Nothing more. Don’t even _think_ about checking whether Ortega is still looking at you.

Thanksgiving is coming up soon and with it the donations are picking up in quantity. There’s something reassuring in seeing it. That even in a city like Los Diablos people still take the time to offer something.

At least… You frown at the rusty can you pull out of a paper bag. At least when they aren’t passing off baked beans from 1985. With a disgusted frown you quietly move that can to the ‘to be disposed’ bin.

A few hours of monotonous sorting later, Carol pops back in clapping her hands together and thanking you both for helping out. “I’m just going to finish closing up here with my staff. I’m sure you two have places you’d rather be, the Friday night before Halloween.”

“Thanks for keeping us busy.” Ortega smiles back at her, a little too broadly.

“This is a big help, believe me.” Carol titters, cheeks tinged red. Oh. Oh, of course.

Ortega’s grin widens, and she finishes off with a wink before turning away to wave you over. “It’s about five, you wanna get something for dinner Ari?”

“Um.” You frown, glancing down at the row of boxes. Wrapping your hands under your shawl you shake your head. “I’m good. Thanks.”

“You sure?”

“Y–yeah.”

“Alright…” Ortega is silent just long enough for both of you to gather your things. “Well, take a walk with me?”

You narrow your eyes at her, glance at Carol’s retreating form. “W–why…?”

“Well… this _used_ to be your neighborhood,” There’s a question in her eyes. “Why not show me around?”

“I thought you knew everywhere in this city.”

“I don’t know if you remember Ari, but there’s not a lot of time for sightseeing when you’re in the middle of fighting the human bulldozer.”

That gets you to laugh. “Fine. Alright. But, I was only here like, um… a year before I moved further north. It’s not like I’m any less of – uh, of a tourist.”

“Now you’re just being modest.”

“It’s been a–a–a decade. I’m sure everything’s different now.”

“Have you really not been back since…?”

Vertigo hits and you have to grab the table to steady yourself. “I – I don’t want to… be reminded. Of… before.” This was a bad idea. Why did you get it in your head to do this?

Ortega steps closer and you tense up, expecting to have to fend off another unwanted touch. It doesn’t come. “If that was the case, you could have picked a different kitchen.”

“I know.”

Out the street, Ortega follows in your shadow, uncharactistically silent. It makes you nervous. What is she thinking? Static, the sound of a television tuned to a dead channel. You remember reading somewhere that part of that static snow the television and radio picked up was the cosmic microwave background radiation, the birthpang of the universe. Is that what you’re picking up when you try to feel Ortega’s thoughts? Some sort of primordial sign?

If there’s a deeper meaning there, it remains a mystery.

A buzz from your purse pulls you out of your head with a jump.

“Who is it?” Ortega stops alongside you. “Anyone I know?” She laughs.

You don’t. “Uh – actually. It’s… shit.” You make a face. “I forgot about training with Herald.”

“Tell him I say hi.”

“Yeah… s–sure.” You lie, intending to do no such thing. Quickly typing out a response. “We’ll just uh, just have to reschedule. I’m sure wonderbread has better things to be doing today anyway.”

“Wonderbread?”

“Uh…” You glance around as you put your phone away. “You know… like… the brand? White, bland, tasteless?”

Ortega laughs, shaking her head. “That’s a little harsh.”

You resume walking, fast enough that Ortega has to work to keep up. “Y–yeah, well. He can get a better nickname when he shapes up.”

“No mercy huh?”

You flinch at that, avoid looking her way. “He – he, uh, asked for my help, so… he’s gonna get it. Help. My help. Is what he’s gonna get. Fuck.”

Oh god, you need something _anything_ to divert this conversation right the fuck now.

“Look,” You stop in front of the store the two of you had almost powered by. Tap on the glass. “This, uh. This used to be a thrift shop. Got some good stuff out of there.” You peer through the darkened windows. What was it now? Not open, apparently.

“That’s the first thing you show me?”

“It’s – it’s practical, okay!?” You huff, hands on your hips pushing out the sides of your shawl. “I d–d–didn’t exactly have a lot to work with.”

“You were always so tight-lipped back then.”

“Well… I – I don’t know.” You step away from the window and Ortega both. “I guess I… I didn’t want you to think less of me. Any of the Rangers really.”

“Less of you for what? That you were poor? What, did you think I was going to kick you out of the club house? ‘You must make this much to ride’?”

You shoot an accusatory glare her way. “Steel sure wanted to.”

Ortega sighs, reaches back with a hand to rub at her neck.. “Wei can be a little… overzealous. He has his own stuff he’s working through.”

“I know. He uh… he apologized to me. The other day.”

“He did?” Ortega blinks, then smiles. “He did. That’s great! Wow. Wei never backs down.”

“I know. Did… you say something? To him?”

“What haven’t I said to him?” She laughs, still rubbing her neck. “I mean, I’m glad, but I doubt it was because of anything I said. Ari… we’ve all changed, you know. These past years.”

Because of you. Because you died. Your fault. Like everything else.

You don’t say that though. Instead, you give her a wry look. “If you’re about to say your wiser and older, I’d uh, I’d agree with the older part, but definitely not the wiser part.”

“Ass.” She takes a swing at you.

You dodge it easily. “You like it.”

“Found me out.”

There’s an awkward silence between the two of you. Eyes meeting the other just a little longer than comfortable. You step back, look away across the street. Ortega glances in the opposite direction, trying to peer into the darkened windows. “What do you think they sell here now?”

“Who knows?”

“I think I see some costumes there. Maybe it’s a costume shop? Or was one?” You catch Ortega looking your way again from the corner of your eye. “Hey, you want to go to a Halloween party tomorrow?”

Your eyes widen. “No! N–no way! Are you f–fucking nuts?”

“What’s the problem? You’re retired. You can dress up in something with a mask. I’ll get something too. I think Esmé on the Guardian force is having a party we could crash. No one will know it’s us.”

“That’s…” You shake your head. “Ortega, I’m not crashing a superhero party held by your rival team.”

“Com’on,” Ortega bats her eyes at you, laying it on thick. “It’s the perfect excuse to make trouble.”

It… would let you get some intel on the Mayor’s team. Ortega gives you the inside scoop on the Rangers but sooner or later if you keep messing with the politicians they’re going to send their own task force after you.

You shake your head. “No. No way.”

“Fine.” Ortega pouts, crossing her arms. “One of these days, I’m going to get you in that ‘sexy Sidestep’ costume, mark my words.”

You have to grab the wall to hold yourself up. “Oh my f–f–fucking god, don’t tell me you still have that fucking thing.”

“It was a work of art and you set it on fire, _in my arms_.”

“F–f–fuck you.” You cross your arms and glare at her. Praying your face isn’t as red as it feels. “I d–don’t seem to remember you lining up for that sexy Charge suit.”

Ortega meets your glare with a smug smirk. “Oh, I totally would.”

“W–what?”

“ _If_ you dress up with me. Solidarity. That’s the deal.”

“In your dreams.”

Her smile only broadens, the smug asshole. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You set off down the block and away from Ortega. You have to get this image out of your head before you do something incredibly stupid.

“Hey!” Laughter from behind you. “Don’t you walk away from me!”

You cross the street before waiting for her to catch up. “Find someone else f–f–for your debauched fantasy.”

“Hey,” She puts up her hands, worry creeping into her face. “I’m just teasing, okay?”

“I’m not dressing up.”

“Okay. Okay. Ari, relax.”

A grunt of acknowledgement is all she gets out of you as you set off down the sidewalk again. You hunch your shoulders, arms hugging your chest.

“...everything alright?”

“S’fine.”

“Okay…”

The conversation lapses. Fuck.

Had to go make things weird, didn’t you?

“Sorry.” You offer.

That throws her off. “What for?”

“I… I don’t know. Being me?”

“Hey…” Ortega’s voice is soft. You don’t stop walking, make her pick up the pace to keep even with you. “You’re my friend. You don’t need to apologize for that.”

You frown. The rest of the tour goes by in a blur, watching yourself go through the motions. All forgotten the moment you set foot back home in your apartment. The only memory that sticks is the knot in your stomach.


	18. falling forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You agreed to help Herald relearn how to fight – and oh god what were you thinking?  
>  Tw: past sexual abuse; suicidal thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [still feel] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KOOhPfMbuIQ)  
>  [ [“Idiots, the both of you”] ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19293916)

##  falling forward

With Halloween behind you, fall is in full swing now, and the worst of the summer heat is safely in the past. Hard to believe it’s already going to be winter next month, if it wasn’t for the cool air filling your lungs. Was Banshee’s big debut trashing the Heroic Heritage Museum Gala really just this summer? It feels like a lifetime ago.

You hold your shawl against yourself as the wind whips it about, Herald holding you in his arms. Jesus christ you hate flying. Hate it hate it hate it. Why did you agree to this insanity?

You don’t know what you expected really, agreeing to train Herald. Herald! Of all people. But he needs it. He needs the work. Whatever cocky assurance he had before your debut has evaporated. The first couple sessions you couldn’t even do much actual sparring, his leg was still in recovery.

The blond bastard is always floating, which must be why you didn’t notice before – How much he favors that knee, the way he’s shifted how he carries his weight. The first time, it was hard to stay focused, to keep present in the moment. Kept falling back to that moment, the sheer disdain and… jealousy? Were you jealous of Herald? Is that what was? So jealous you had to break him.

Another soul you’ve carved with poison.

Or you thought you had.

“Here we go,” Herald lets go of you as your feet touch solid ground again. Quickly retreating, “Again, sorry.”

You take a breath, make a show of dusting the ‘Herald’ off of you and adjusting your sunglasses. “Let’s just… get this show on the road. You said the, um, the quacks finally cleared you for active duty again?”

Herald nods, smiling with his whole face. Swear to god, even if you weren’t telepathic the man practically broadcasts what he’s thinking regardless. Always sunny. Always hopefull. And today? Excited to finally do something with the forms you’d been running him through.

You step back and let him run through his warm-up exercises as you scan the horizon. So high… you’ll never get used to it.

The little niggling urge in the back of your head whispering ‘jump!’

“Are you going to warm up too?” Herald watches you. That’s another thing about Herald, he never met a good silence that he didn’t want to immediately fill with something.

You shift your stance, flexing your fingers under your shawl. “I’m plenty warm, thanks, wonderbread.”

Herald laughs at that, so you deepen your scowl, watch the sunshine wither under your glare. “I wasn’t joking.” Concern flits across his face, and you can’t help the triumphant smirk. So he is capable of more than one emotion after all. “Look, a villain isn’t going to… uh, going to stand there while you do your morning crunches.”

“Well, good thing there’s no villains up here, right?”

He smiles, sunshine poking out from behind the clouds again. You scowl at that and shift your weight, feet planted on the ground with hands behind your back, hidden under your shawl. You’d never get away with it, sparring with Ortega. She’d pick up Banshee’s style in an instant. Herald’s still green. Still safe.

“Let’s just… see what you can do, first.” Relax. Take a breath. Let the music drop and the buzz of the world around you leech in. There he is. Right in front of you, watching. Thinking. Loud and clear.

“Uh – really? Already?”

Roll your eyes. “Just hit me already, Herald.”

Herald takes a moment to center himself. An old familiar song, crushing down the doubt into somewhere dark and deep so it can’t throw you off in the middle of a fight. He rushes you head on, thinking he’ll fake you out and sweep around the side. You stay put, ready. At the last second you twist to the side, and grab his arm, overextended. Pull him forward and off balance and follow up with a knee to the gut.

Herald wheezes, floating backward as you let go. A hand to his chest as he gasps for air. “Did you… wow – did you have to hit so hard?”

You tap your chin, glancing upwards as you make a show of thinking it over. Shrug. “No.” There’s no better teacher than pain. Frankly, compared to the kind of training you had? Herald’s getting kids gloves here. You reset your position, nodding at him. “Come on. Again.”

Herald grits his teeth, bracing himself.

The two of you repeat the process; over and over. And every time you smoothly avoid his attack and knock him away. Ten minutes later he’s still floating away, clutching his side this time. You sigh, rubbing your leg.The kid has got some persistence, but now your own knee is starting to get sore.

“Listen.” You say, and Herald looks up at you, relief in his eyes. Christ. You shake your head, focus! “Listen – Herald. You keep – keep making this same mistake. Over and over.” You spread your arms, hands poking out from under the shawl. “I say ‘attack me’ and, you, fool that you are, attack me.”

Herald face scrunches up. “What? You’re not making any sense.”

You keep your hands out. “Hit me.”

Herald doesn’t move, floating a few feet away. Still gently drifting backwards from your last go-around.

“Com’on, well?”

Confused thoughts spill onto his face, but he stays where he is.

You smile. “Better.” You run a hand through your hair. “Don’t follow your enemy’s script. Make them follow yours.” Your fingers find the bobby pin holding your hair out of your face. With a flick of your wrist it’s sent sailing at Herald’s head.

He ducks automatically and you use the chance to move forward, striking at the back of his legs. Herald falls backwards, flailing in the air as he tries to right himself again. A foot catches your face and you fall to your ass as Herald pulls up and out of reach.

“Damn!” You wince, rubbing your jaw. Bit your own tongue hard enough to taste blood there.

Glance up, and Herald is hovering, anxious. “Are you alright?”

Ugh. You roll your eyes. “Goddamnit Herald, you d–don’t ask your enemy if they’re okay.” You push yourself back to your feet, glaring up at him with your hands on your hips.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He protests, dipping down closer, but not you note, within reach.

You shift your hand up, rub at your temples to hide your eyes. He has no idea. No fucking idea who you are. It – it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. “Herald.” You shake your head. “What do you think happens in a fight?”

A flare of frustration from above you. “I know what a fight is, Ariadne.”

“The moment you had me on the ground, you should have pressed your advantage, instead you pulled back and gave me a chance to recover.” You flick your wrist in his direction again, frown as he ducks. How long has he been in the game now? A couple years right? How is he still this green? “There’s no such thing as ‘playing dirty,’ understand? Only fights you walk away from and fights you don’t.”

You step away from him. Put the sunshine to your back. This isn’t a hero flick, or a sanitized news report. He needs to get it through his thick skull or he’s going to end up getting mulched. Again.

“Ariadne?” Can feel him hover closer behind. Scared you’re going to do something stupid. The concern is enough to make you ball your hands into fists. You ‘doing something stupid’ would just be doing him and most of the world a favor, honestly.

He’s still there. Just out of striking range. At least he learned one thing. “I was hoping for training Ariadne.” He sounds worried. Fuck. “Not beating the crap out of each other.”

“Yeah, well…” You stare out at the horizon. The crest of the mountains beyond the city. Somewhere past those rocks lays home, your nightmare. “Fighting people isn’t pretty, Herald. If – if you haven’t figured that out by n–now, you’re hopeless. People break bones, they bleed everywhere. Sometimes there’s tears and crying, and – and you can’t always tell if it’s… yours.” You flex your jaw. Can still feel the sting where Herald’s shoe hit. “At–at–at the end of th–the day, there’s nothing… nothing heroic about b–breaking a man’s rib cage just because the–the–the alternative is him chopping you and a d–dozen other – a dozen other people into bits.”

Your every nerve is on edge, shoulders tense enough to make your neck hurt. You shift your arms under your shawl, hugging them tight against yourself. “People just… they die.” Can feel your voice rise as your throat tightens. “They die and die and die and you p–pray you aren’t one of them.”

“Hey… are you alright?” The voice behind you sounds distant. A thousand miles removed. Vaguely aware of your legs buckling underneath you as you collapse, accordion-like onto the roof tile.

You’re not there. It’s not real. You’re not real? No – fuck. Vague memory like someone else’s voice, prodding reminder of something Dr. Finch suggested. Try to grasp it and it’s gone and there’s just light above and white around and – and –

Someone moves, their intention for touch like a burning iron cutting through your thoughts. You grit your teeth and snare it, halt the arm with red threads pulling back. “Don’t. Touch. Me.” Pull hard and the attached body staggers back. Away.

There's a note of alarm. Fear. Fear of you? Who could possibly be…?

It’s sunlight. Wonderbread. It slams like the ache in your knees, the pain in your throat. The salt on your cheeks. You’re in Los Diablos. On a roof. With Herald. It’s Herald. Not scared of you, scared… for you? Fuck.

Have to get out of here. You stagger to your feet, one hand pushing up your shades as you try to wipe your eyes before he can notice. “Lesson over for today. S–sorry. No refunds.”

Herald’s fear is palpable and terrifying. “Okay, seriously, what just happened there? Did I say something wrong?”

You march your body to the roof access. “It’s nothing. Don’t – don’t worry about it. In fact: f–f–forget about training altogether.” Grab the handle and pull. Push and pull. No luck. No movement. “Mierda.”

“Ariadne, talk to me. Something’s clearly wrong, you’re worrying me.”

God – fucking hell. You spin on your heel, fists at your sides. “I d–d–don’t owe you jack shit Herald!” You yell at the top of your lungs. “I’m only up here in the–the–the first place because of – because of you! And now I’m – I’m fucking trapped here!”

Herald dips backwards, hands raised as if he’s going to block your words like a punch. “You’re upset. I’m sorry.” He means it. Really thinks he means it, the idiot. “I’ll just… take you back down to the street and we can call it a week, okay?”

“No!” You stomp your foot, willing him to go away, heart pounding at the thought of it. “Nobody else is f–f–fucking touching me today!”

Herald doesn’t move. Stays put, ever so slightly off the ground. Hands out, ready to… to…

“Goddamnit.” You close your eyes. “I–I–I don’t need a second fucking Ortega.”

A silence passes between the two of you. It doesn’t last long enough.

“Can we…” Herald hesitates. “Can we talk now?”

“Fine. Free country.”

“Did you…” Can feel him try to pick the right words. His fear of setting you off putting you on edge again. “Was that another… attack, just then?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You turn away from him, glare at the lock. Maybe if you will it hard enough, you can get the door to open out of shame.

“But you just said–”

“You don’t – Herald, you d–d–don’t need to understand. It’s none of your goddamn business.” Have to will yourself to keep standing. To stay angry. To not fall apart. Not here. Not like this. Not in front of this stranger you barely know whose life you’ve ruined. “H–how did you think this was going to go, Herald? W–w–what exactly were you f–f–fucking expecting? To–to–to have your – your fearless hero leap out of TV Screen? Well… S–surprise!” You whirl back on him, waving your hands, sneering. “She d–doesn’t exist! I’m not her! I n–never was. We c–c–can’t all be perfect TV Stars, Herald! I’m just a – a washed-up has-been that d–d–doesn’t know when to leave things well fucking goddamn enough alone!”

You turn back to the door and kick it hard enough to leave a dent.

“Ariadne…” Oh god, he’s not giving up, jesus christ. “Even if that was true, that’s not why I asked for your help.”

Uh-huh. Sure buddy.

He wilts under your stare. “Well. Okay. Maybe, um. Maybe that was part of it – but it’s not the main reason! I was serious about needing help. This new villain, Ghost or whatever–”

“Banshee.”

“That. I told you. I need help. I need a new way to fight if I’m not going to… If I’m not going to screw up again.” He holds your stare. Can feel him focused on you. Willing you to believe him. Desperate for it.

Begging for your help to defeat you.

“… you’re really serious about this?”

“Yes!”

“One hundred percent dedicated?”

“Yes!!”

You turn away. “Welp. S–sucks to be you I guess.”

It takes him a moment to recover from that. “Excuse me?”

Rolling your eyes at the door, you hold at a hand, as if holding something. “What’s your tragic backstory? Dead wife? Lost your parents? Every hero’s got one.” You kick the door again. Still no luck. Turn back to Herald, glare at the stricken expression on his face. “Nobody willingly throws themselves at people who can shoot laser beams out of their eyes or has knives for hands who doesn’t want to die on some level.”

“You… don’t really think that, do you?”

You laugh, throwing your arms up, helpless. “Maybe I do! M–maybe I don’t. Who f–f–fucking knows anymore.” You fall back against the door, sliding to the ground. Finally got Herald to shut up. He thinks you’re a mental case now, but fuck it. Fuck him. Fuck you.

Tilt your head up at the sky, watch the smog and clouds meld together.

Herald stays put, floating awkwardly. His thoughts loud and clear and threatening to drown out your own.

This clearly isn’t how he expected his morning to go today. He knew you had… changed since the hero days. But after that first conversation and agreeing to help him, he had hoped that maybe… working with you, he could help… fix things? Somehow? That’s what heroes do, right?

Well, here you are now, looking even more tired and run down then he had ever seen at Rangers HQ. Some kind of panic attack you refused to talk about or even acknowledge. Did he just make things worse? Had he pressured you into it, somehow? He had just wanted to maybe get to know you–

“God, you think too loud.” You rub your temples with one hand, the other tracing a familiar pattern into your pant leg.

Herald’s face reddens. “I’m… sorry?”

“You should be.” You shake your head. “I’m embarrassed for you.” You add, because you just can’t help yourself today. “Fighting a telepath and you can’t even put a lid on it.”

Herald grabs the subject change with all the enthusiasm of a drowning man grabs a life preserver. “That’s possible?”

You shrug. “Obviously.” Doesn’t he know this stuff? It’s not like its secret knowledge “There’s ways – techniques, work-arounds, little ‘walls’ you can put up to make it harder.”

“What do you do?”

“It’s…” You hesitate. “It’s a little different for me. Since I’m also the one, uh, hearing.” At least this is a safe subject. Mostly. Mostly safe. “I guess it works pretty much the same though. You want something that can occupy your, uh – shit, I don’t know the professional terms. I’m not a damn doctor.” You shrug, still staring up at the sky. “But like… your surface level thoughts?”

Herald tilts his head, thinking it over. “Like… when you talk to yourself in your head?”

“Y–yeah. Yeah, sure.” Good enough. “You can use that as a – a smokescreen. Chaff. Or whatever?”

“Huh.” Can feel Herald’s mind churning. Turning your words over. “Couldn’t you also use that to like… misdirect? Think one thing and do the opposite?”

Uh – huh.

You look at Herald. Okay. Didn’t expect him to catch on that fast. “Yeah.” You nod, smiling despite yourself. “Yeah, that’s… possible. But it’s a lot harder than it sounds to pull that off in the middle of a fight. Trust me.”

Herald stays quiet for a blessed second, weighing the idea in his head. “What about you? What do you usually do for a… um, smokescreen?”

Fuck. Not Even Ortega ever straight up asked you that. “…If I tell you, and – and you laugh. I am legally allowed to kill you.” Why are you even offering? What the fuck Ariadne?

Herald smiles, raising his hands, “I won’t laugh,” he promises. There’s a slight anxiety to his smile.

“I’m dead serious, wonderbread.”

“…me too.” His voice cracks.

You chew your lip, tracing patterns in your leg as you think it over. Whether to follow through.

Ah, fuck it.

“I… um. I use music.” You stare down at your lap. Ready for the first smart comment to signal Herald’s final beatdown.

“Wait…” Here it comes. “Like – so you’re just, what? Singing in your head?”

You shift position, glare at him from across the rough, ready to strike.

“Hey!” He raises his arms again, “Hey, I’m not laughing! It’s actually kind of cu–” He cuts himself off. Has the presence of mind not to finish that sentence. “Anyway, I’m just surprised by it being that simple?”

“Try keeping it up while fighting three separate people and balancing keeping out bystanders while still monitoring the other combatants.”

“…Okay. That does sound harder.” Herald admits. “But, I’d only need to worry about keeping out a telepath right? Like Banshee?”

You can’t keep the sarcasm out of your voice, “Lucky you.”

If Herald notices, he doesn’t give any sign. “Do you think, um, maybe that we can practice that next week?” He catches your eyes again, worry lining his face. It’s enough to make your chest hurt. It’s not right. He’s still practically a kid. And you’re… Fuck.

“Maybe.” You owe him that. Don’t you? But you can’t quite bring yourself to give up that easily. “You th–think you can pick a training area that doesn’t leave me trapped on top of a f–f–fucking building?”

“Um.” Herald scratches his head. “I can try. I could at least get a copy of the roof access key.”

“And I expect at least a milkshake. As – as compensation.”

“I can work with that.”

* * *

You’re really spending a lot of time at Rangers HQ these days, aren’t you? If you’re not grabbing Herald for training, then you’re playing consultant to Ortega. Or stopping by to grab her for something else… You’re a wanted criminal and terrorist. You really shouldn’t be flaunting yourself like this. One day it’s going to come back to bite you in the ass.

Until then, you’ll sit on the break room windowsill with a cup of hot chocolate and watch the traffic outside until the sound of the door opening draws your eyes away.

“So. Ari.” Ortega slides into the room, arms behind her back. A smile on her face that can only mean trouble. “You seem to be getting along better with Herald these days, huh?”

“W–what?” Can feel your face get warm. “I – I told you. I don’t – I’m just – I’m not even…” You put your drink down and cross your arms. “So – so what? What of it?”

Ortega keeps smiling, the bastard. “Nothing.” She lies. “I’m just pleasantly shocked is all. It took me how long to even get your name? A year? You move fast in your old age.”

“Old age!?” You jump to your feet.

“What, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?” Ortega cackles.

“S–shut up, old woman! Crone! Uh – um – fuck – uh, Disney Timeshare holder!”

Ortega’s grin only widens. “You know? I’ve never actually been.”

Where does she get these ideas? Why does she keep – no. You’re not thinking about this. Stop it. Shut up Ariadne. “It’s–it’s–it’s not like I’m doing it for free!” You push on. “I’m making him pay for it!”

That gets her by surprise. “Really?”

“In milkshakes!”

There’s silence, and then Ortega laughs. “Oh! I thought you were serious for a minute there.”

“I am serious!” You stomp your foot. “I’m d–d–dead fucking serious!!” You need to go on the attack fast. “Why? Huh? What’s it matter to–to–to you!? What? You jealous?”

“Me?” Ortega huffs, “Jealous of what? Ari, I work with Herald. I see him plenty. I’m just happy for you.”

You blink. “W–what? That’s not – there’s – Ortega…”

“Hey, relax. I’m just teasing. Well,” Ortega tilts her head with a shrug, “Mostly teasing. I know you’re gayer than a three-dollar bill.”

“I – what?” You voice cracks.

Now it’s Ortega’s turn to look confused. “Er, I’m not misremembering am I?”

“I – I don’t know? I–I–I’ve never – never thought about it!?”

Oh god. Oh fuck. Why is this happening? Why are you saying these words with your mouth in that order?

“Really?” Ortega’s watching you. All damnable static and an unreadable face.

“I don’t know!” You sit back down. “It’s – it’s never mattered before! I don’t… I don’t do that kind of stuff.”

“A certain rock on the beach would beg otherwise.”

“S–shut up! Crone!”

Just… let lightning strike you right now. Please.

“You… know it’s okay if you want to, right?” Ortega pauses. “And if the other person is into it, of course.” Can hear the smirk in her voice.

“I – I guess?? I don’t know…”

“Ari, I was just teasing before but… are you interested in Herald?”

You shoot up your head, locking eyes with her. Shock on your face. “What? No! I… No! I don’t – no. It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?”

You frown, drop your gaze to your lap. “I don’t want anything to do with men. Not… Not like that. Not ever. No way.”

“Ari…?”

“I’m fine. Okay. I’m fine. It’s fine.” You dig your fingers into your leg. Focus on that. Stay present. Stay centered. “I d–don’t want to talk about this. Okay?” You close your eyes, the past three sleepless nights hitting you at once. Even with your eyes closed, can just fucking _swear_ you can feel Ortega staring at you, that same worrying, pitying expression on her face that she has so often now when the two of you are together.

“Have you talked to Dr. Finch about it?”

You make a face, turn away to stare out the window. “Yeah. Sounds like a great f–fucking idea.”

“I think it would help.”

“Just… what did you want me for today, anyway?”

“Oh! Right. Sorry. I got carried away giving you a hard time.”

You groan. “D–doesn’t he bother you?”

“Huh?”

“Wonderbread.” You gesture an arm towards Herald’s general direction in the building. “Blue-eyed, blond hair, white dude replaces you as the public face of the team? That PR puts him up front of all your events? That he gets the speeches? Don’t you… think that’s weird?”

“Oh.” Ortega’s silent, and she stays silent long enough that you look up to check if she’s still there. She grimaces as you catch her eye. “Herald’s a good kid. PR’s kind of got him in a dazzle, and Chen hates that stuff so…” She shrugs. Doesn’t even mention Argent, you note. “People will think whatever they want. They always have. Ari… I was always envious of your ability to stay out of the limelight.”

You blink at that. “R–really? But… you always kept trying to push me in.”

“You deserved at least _some_ recognition, Ari, and… honestly? I didn’t want to do it alone.”

“Oh.”

“The kinds of stuff people said? I don’t miss it at all. Hell, Ari, I _still_ get shit. It’s just easier to ignore now. Let Herald have the spotlight. I did my time. I never signed up to be some kind of model minority.”

“I…” You frown, look away. “I never realized. I’m s–sorry. I thought… you always seemed so at home in front of the camera. I – I always thought you lived for that stuff…”

“No, I do. Or did. Still do?” Ortega sighs. “Mierda, I’m sorry. I know you had your own reasons, I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty. And I don’t… I didn’t mean to drag down the mood–”

“S–stop” You make yourself look at her again “D–don’t apologize. Um. Thank you. For… for telling me. I’m sorry for… for not being there. For… not realizing.” You mean it. Your heart hurts for it. For everything. You can’t apologize for everything but… you can apologize for this, at least.

“Yeah, well…” Ortega cracks a smile, and after a moment it’s spread to your own face. You push up your sunglasses, rubbing at an eye. She coughs, “Anyway, we’ve gotten way off track here.”

“W–what about?”

“It’s circling back to Herald actually.” Ortega’s smile turns apologetic as she finally pulls the bag from behind her back. “He wanted me to pass this on? I think he was a little too embarrassed to hand it over himself.”

“Oh.”

Oh no.

You look between Ortega and the bag in her hands. “So that’s why you were…?”

“I… think it’s just Herald being Herald? He’s a gift-er.” She holds the bag out towards you. “Well? I want to see what’s inside at least.”

You frown. “Don’t act innocent. This has your m–mitts all over it.”

“What?” She snickers, “I had nothing to do with it. Scouts honor.”

“I–” You narrow your eyes, searching her face. “…were you in scouts?”

“Oh, just – open the bag, Ari!”

“Alright, alright, fine. Geez.” You get up and stick your hand in the bag, feel around until you pull out a small plastic box.

“Well?”

“Hrm.” Turn it over in your hands, scanning the print. “It’s… a CD player?” Why would…? “With headphones?”

Ortega puts the now empty bag aside on the table. “He said it was to help you concentrate? I couldn’t get him to explain what that was supposed to mean though.”

“Oh.” Maybe you underestimated Herald. “Huh.”

“There should be a couple CDs in the bag, too.” Ortega jerks a thumb to the bag. “So, okay, yeah, full honesty, I helped Herald out with some suggestions. But the idea and everything was all him.”

“This is… very, um.” You can’t tear your eyes away from the package, the silver-colored machine encased in plastic. “I… I can’t take this, Ortega.”

“Of course you can. It’s a Christmas present.”

You blink. Wait – what? “Christmas present!? Since when is it–”

“Uh, Next week, remember?” Ortega looks at you, brow creased. “Have you looked outside lately?”

“I – I just. I didn’t think about – oh my god. Already?” You shake your head. “It – it doesn’t change anything, Ortega I…” Your voice cracks. “I can’t. I don’t…”

“Ari… how many times do I need to tell you?” Ortega steps closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “People care about you. It’s okay to let them.”

“But–”

“Herald wanted to do something nice. As thanks. We both did.”

You have to blink your eyes rapidly. Try to clear the water away. “Idiots.” Your laughter is abrupt. Nervous and guilty. “Both of you.”

“I can think of no higher compliment.”

You push her away, laughing. “S–shut up!”


	19. say something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even as your relationship with Ortega improves, Jane’s worses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [I Go Crazy] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=evUe46ua8Ao)

##  say something

How is it already Christmas Eve? Wasn’t it just the middle of summer? But no. It’s Christmas and you have a date with Ortega.

No.

Correction – _Jane_ has a date with Ortega. Jane has a date with Ortega at a charity dinner where she’s going to plant bugs on several key city leaders to follow up on the records you stole out of Pennybag’s private files.

That part was easy. Shake hands, smile, look pretty. No one really expects Jane to know anything. Arm candy for a woman who herself is here as another kind of fancy decoration. “Honestly, Jules.” Jane hisses under her breath as she slides back into her seat. “How do you not punch the lights out of some of these people?”

Ortega’s smile is strained, her hand finding Jane’s knee on the table. “It’s a talent.”

Ever since your last conversation with Ortega – as Ariadne, it feels like you’re noticing it everywhere now. It’s great really, you needed another reason to hate and resent all humanity.

“Did – did that last guy really think he could…” Jane picks up her knife and stabs it violently into her steak.

“Jane, now is… _really_ not the time.” The hand on Jane’s knee squeezes to underline the point.

“Fine.” Jane sighs. Leans over to brush her shoulder against Ortega’s. “I’m sorry you’re stuck here instead of spending Christmas with your family.”

Ortega shrugs, as if to say, ‘well, what can you do?’ A long drink from her glass of red wine follows. “At least it’s for a good cause. Feels like as soon as we finish rebuilding one part of the city, some pendejo goes and blows up something else.” A sideways glance at Jane. “Did you hear about Banshee’s latest attack?”

Jane puts down her knife, frowning. “The Pennybags thing?”

“I mean the one that just happened yesterday.”

“Yesterday…?” You didn’t do anything more villainous yesterday than stay indoors all day crying over a romance novel.

And you’ll go to your grave before you admit that to another living soul.

“Huh.” There’s a thoughtful expression on Ortega’s face.

“What? What is it?”

She shakes her head. “Nevermind. Don’t worry about it.” She smiles. Jane frowns. What is she up to? What happened yesterday? Did Banshee get blamed for somebody else’s actions again? _Somebody_ has it in their head to try and undermine you, but fuck if you can figure out who. The list of possible suspects more or less amounts to every major mover and shaker in the city.

“No, seriously.” Jane presses, leaning in. “What happened yesterday?”

Ortega dips in, a quick peck on Jane’s cheek. “It’s fine. Ranger business. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Jane huffs, pouting at her steak. Getting the dibs on ‘Ranger Business’ was the whole reason for this charade to begin with. The main reason. No – the only reason. Only that and nothing else. Being able to look at and talk with Ortega has nothing to do with it. That’s absurd. Who would suggest that?

This is business. Strictly that and nothing else and oh fuck who the fucking christ are you kidding you absolute loser.

Things don’t get any less stranger over the course of the dinner. Watching a bunch of very rich old men pretend they’re making some noble sacrifice by pledging thousands of dollars in exchange for random pieces of garbage someone had the temerity to call ‘art.’

And what is up with Ortega? Swear she’s getting more and more distant from Jane each time the two of them go out. Even as Ariadne and her get closer – wait. Fuck. Shit. Are you sabotaging yourself again?

But –

No.

Ortega’s not… She’s a naturally handsy, flirty person. That’s just how she is. How she’s always been. Right? Right??? So Ari and her have kissed. Twice. So what? It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. It can’t.

Jane. Ortega can be interested in Jane. Jane is safe. Jane can kiss, can show skin, can be loose and comfortable and she doesn’t collapse into a simpering ball at eleven at night just because someone with exactly the wrong kind of shoes is walking past the door outside.

Jane is young, and pretty, and cisgender and gorgeous, and can hold a conversation without a constant stammering struggling to get any words out and is beautiful, and there’s just no contest next to Ariadne. There’s no comparison.

How could Ortega ever want _you_ when Jane is right here? Leaning on her arm. Feeling her heartbeat, the pulse in her skin. As if in response, Ortega shifts position pulling away from Jane before she can do anything more. Holds up her phone with an apologetic face. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

“Y–yeah. Of course.” Jane forces a smile back, “Duty never rests and all that.”

“Thanks.”

* * *

“And then she never came back!” Jane pops the cap off the beer, takes a long pull straight from the bottle. Gasping for air when she finally stops. “Here I am, in stuffed suit central waiting for her, and waiting. And then, like, what? Forty-five minutes later, I get a text message. Saying, oh, how she’s so sorry but an emergency came up.”

“Mon amie–”

“Bullshit! Am I right?” Jane takes another long drink as Dr. Mortum looks on, concerned.

“Mon amie, all I ask, is if you feel the need to throw up, please do not do it on my equipment.”

Jane sighs and with great reluctance puts the bottle down and falls back on the couch. “Well, that was _my_ Christmas. How about you, doc? You got anyone in your life making you cry at five in the morning?”

She winces, leaning forward to gently slide the beer bottle further back from the edge of the table. “Alas, mon amie, I have been a strictly solo operation for quite some time.”

“Oh.” Jane glances over at her. “That sucks.”

“Thank you, but I am quite alright with it.” Her smile is polite and practiced. Her expression takes a turn for the wry. “Clearly close attachments aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”

“Ugh” Jane rolls her eyes. “You can say that again.”

“Is this going to be a problem with your employer, do you think?”

“Uh – no?” Have to think about that one. “I mean. As long I can still get into parties like that, I’m golden. It’s just… I thought we…”

Dr. Mortum moves from her seat, back to her workbench where she straps on a set of welding goggles. “Do not get so wrapped up in the play, mon amie, that you mistake the actors for their characters.”

Jane sits up. Oh, the room is spinning. Fuck. She’s gonna feel this in the morning. “What are you talking about?”

“Maybe your feelings are real,” There’s a disapproving glance back in Jane’s direction. “But it is still just an act. Roles we put on. We all use each other, do we not? You know how you’ve been using Ortega. So the question is, how has she been using you?”

Jane looks away, slouching down. “That’s… kind of a cynical way to view things, don’t you think, doc?”

“Show me the lie, mon amie.” She shifts through a box of gears, inspecting the teeth.

“Well, I’m not.” Jane protests. “Using you, that is.”

That gets a soft chuckle, and Mortum doesn’t turn around, now fully focusing on her project. “Oh, you absolutely are. Maybe tomorrow when you are less drunk you will realize it.”

“Fine. Fine. Whatever.” Jane sighs. “You’re right. I need to get my head on straight.”

“Of course I am right, mon amie.”

“Don’t get smug about it.”

“Me? Never.”

Leaning over, Jane grabs her purse, drawing it close enough to fish out her cellphone. Nothing Jane texts is going to actually send until she’s out from under the hardened shielding of Dr. Mortum’s lab. But there’s no reason not to do it now while it’s on the top of your mind.

> Jane: Hey, can we talk soon?
> 
> Jane: Like 4 serious
> 
> Jane: U can pick place

* * *

The time between Christmas and New Years shouldn’t count as real time. You’re pretty sure that’s got to be a rule somewhere, right? Barring some sort of one-in-a-million opportunity, Banshee is cooling her jets. You can start wrecking people’s days again in the new year.

Of course, that doesn’t really leave you with a lot to do. Except read. Or plan. Or stress. There’s a lot of that. A lot of stressing out. Especially as Jane, lately. What used to be your sanctuary away from your own neurosis is now twisted up in anxiety over Ortega’s growing distance.

Honestly, you’ve only got yourself to blame for effectively burning both of your lives pining over the same woman. But now here Jane is. Following Ortega from the taxi cab, on the last Saturday of the year.

“Hey, uh…” Jane pulls close to Ortega, twining her fingers in hers.

“Yeah?”

“You really sure _this_ is where you want to be eating?” You recognize this diner, and it’s trashy retro 50s aesthetic. This is a front for Hollow Ground’s business in the neighborhood. Ortega has to know that right?

She glances over at Jane, “I just heard about it, thought it sounded worth checking out the fajitas. Why? Is there a problem?”

“N–no. It’s… there’s no problem.” Jane smiles until Ortega smiles back. Don’t break character. Jane is just a ‘normal’ woman. She wouldn’t know anything about Hollow Ground or criminal enterprises or any of that shit. Not around Ortega.

“Great, let’s grab a table then.” Ortega leads the way, powering through the open doors. Jane’s heart skips a beat as she looks over the crowded clientele. Thought you had gotten used to this by now: being in public with a woman like this. That you can _do_ this.

Or, well, Jane can. You can’t.

Ortega takes a seat in the middle of the floor after a quick scan of the area. Is she… looking for something? Come to think of it, she’s dressed differently today, isn’t she? Hat, shades, her whole getup… “What?” Jane smirks as she sits down across from her, “Trying not to be noticed today?”

Ortega’s smile is distant, “Something like that.” She takes the menu from the server with a polite thanks and yeah okay something weird is going on.

Jane hunches down, frown on her face. “What is with you today?”

“Huh?” She glances over, visibly distracted.

“First you ditch me at that dumb dinner that _you_ invited me to,” Technically you talked her into it but details. “Now all this…?” Jane stops, narrows her eyes. “You’re working right now aren’t you.”

“Uh, well–”

“You are.” Jane leans in, hissing angrily. “I can’t believe this. At least tell me up front!”

“Okay, well, yeah.” Ortega looks down at the table, hands fiddling with the ketchup bottle. “Nothing big. Just… be quiet for a bit, okay? Let me get this out of the way first.”

Jane sits back, crosses her arms, fury spilling up and over. “Can’t fucking believe this…”

Ortega goes silent again. Cocks her head to one side, but Jane can’t make out anything distinct among the din of the conversation. Does Ortega have some kind of modded hearing work done? That’s an unsettling thought. You knew about the upgraded micro-reactor. What else is going on under that skin?

The two sit there, increasingly awkward. Sever comes and goes, taking an order you forget as soon as it leaves Jane’s mouth. Don’t like this. Don’t like anything about this. Is Jane Ortega’s priority or not?

Suppose you’ve never actually seen first-hand what Ortega’s like in a relationship. Is this how she treated all of them? No wonder none lasted.

Doesn’t help that you keep expecting someone who’ll recognize Jane. Someone like – Jane slides down in her seat, fighting to keep her face placid even as her heart pounds against her ribs.

The guy from the night at Joes, when you bet on red twelve. The made man. What was his name again? Jake. Jake Manalo. Filipino? He’s in a sharp looking suit, but a different one from that night. Flanked by two of his friends. Well, ‘friends.’ He looks over the diner, and catches Jane’s eye before she can put a hand over her face.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Does he recognize her? Why would he? His face doesn’t change. Doesn’t betray anything. Gaze lingers a second too long before moving on. Cracks a grin at the guy on his right. They settle into a booth in the far corner.

“Are you alright?” Oh, _now_ Ortega is paying attention to Jane. “You look white as a sheet.”

“I… I’m not feeling my best today.” Jane frowns. Sets back up straight.

“Oh, that sucks.” And Ortega’s already gone again, listening to something. Fucking hell.

God. This is wrong.

Something is wrong here.

Jane’s hands play with the paper napkin. Glass of water still untouched. When’s the food going to come? At least that’ll be something to do. Something to distract from the anxiety crawling goosebumps up Jane’s neck.

Glance towards the window pane that makes up the bulk of the wall to the right. If that thing broke, the glass would shatter across the whole space. Both Jane and Ortega are close enough, They’d get showered in shards.

But. Why are you thinking about that? It just… it feels so obvious. Jane can see it.

Feel it happening.

Feel the moment of it happening getting closer.

Jane is already out of her seat, pushing Ortega to the floor as a thunderous boom rattles the building and the glass explodes inward. People scream in panic, scrambling to get free. Smoke in the distance, scrambling feet and toppling chairs and Ortega under you – under Jane, wide-eyed in shock.

“Holy shit.” Jane mouths.

Ortega nods in agreement and the two of them help each other to their feet. Ortega reaches over, brushing glass off of Jane’s shoulders. “You okay?”

“Feel like I… I rubbed my back on sandpaper.”

“You should get out of here.” The concern on Ortega’s face is replaced by resolve as she steps around, looking out the broken window. “I need to finish up here.”

“Finish up– are you crazy?” She glances back, “Please, it’ll be easier if I don’t have to worry about you in the thick of everything.”

Jane steps back. “But… what about me…?”

Shock crosses Ortega’s face, then a warm smile as she stops forward, taking Jane’s hand again. “Hey, you’ll be fine. I _know_ you can take care of yourself. I need to help the people who can’t.”

Fuck. She sounds like a hero right now.

Jane frowns, worried eyes searching Ortega’s face for any hint of a lie. “Okay.” She leans forward, a quick peck of the check. “Go do your stuff, crazy lady.”

“Text me when you’re home. We’ll talk?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Ortega grins, flashing a thumbs-up, before turning around and vaulting through the broken window.

Jane sighs. “The door was right there…”


	20. will we ever get free?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don’t make me go home.
> 
> Tw: past sexual abuse, past abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Ariadne] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mXDpGjnBm-Q)

##  will we ever get free?

Jane texts Ortega as asked, but she doesn’t bother sticking around for a response. What is going on with that woman? Why would she take a civilian with her on an undercover operation? What, was she using Jane as part of her cover? Couldn’t have at least given a heads-up beforehand? Jane would have been down! Jane’s cool with the superhero shit. Tell her more while she smiles and twirls her hair.

Instead, she spends the evening washing a dozen tiny cuts on her back and arms, trashes the nice dress that’s now just _ruined_ and collapses in bed with a depressed huff. Have half a mind to call up Mortum. Come up with some excuse like… needing to recalibrate the suit’s HUD course plotting trackers.

But no, Jane’s been spending too much time crying into Mortum’s ear about Ortega as it is. The two of them might be friends but that doesn’t mean abandoning all pretense of dignity.

In a few more days it will be 2021. Everyone likes to go on about how this year was the first of the decade, but honestly, if you look at the actual calendar, there’s no year zero, so _actually_ this is the start of the new decade.

The _last_ decade for the Farm and the Special Directive, if you have anything to say about it. The last decade for a lot of things, ideally.

Following leads for months now. Feeding stories to Ms. Ochoa to turn into anti-corruption exposes. Building up her reputation and credibility for when the time comes to start dropping the big stuff.

Hopefully nobody kills her first.

Without using possession to create openings for yourself, this plan is going a lot slower than you could have hoped. The fuckers would deserve it of course. The living nightmare, no worse than what you felt, what you lived through. These people are evil through and through. Why are you being so squeamish about this? That Argent had it so bad was a fluke, right? It had to be.

And – and so what if it wasn’t? So what? She’s an arrogant, unfriendly, stuck-up person working to uphold a system that rewards the rich and powerful while stepping on the necks of the powerless.

What made the Rangers such Good Guys anyway? Sure there were civilians, bystanders, people whose only crime was that of existing in a corrupt system, but when your very existence was illegal, why did they deserve to get a pass?

Who got to decide that? You worked with the Rangers for five years and what did you do? Protected banks and businesses, fought and bled to defend landlords, risked your lives in service to a group of people that saw the world in terms of dollar signs.

How can Ortega be for that? How can she get up every day and go to work and know that’s who she’s fighting to protect?

People who will stand there and watch you be strapped to a gurney bed as the surgeon prepares his equipment.

Because you aren’t a person.

Because you aren’t real.

Because…

…

it’s always the hands, entwined fingers or splayed over skin, wrapped around your wrist and holding tight. your heart is pounding against the cotton filling your mind and you know – you know he’s going to – going to – hands you can’t do anything about. easier to let it, a wave foaming with spiders washing over you a thousand prickling hairs like pins as the sand sucks you down

_you’re marooned on an island of cement and sodium yellow and iron metal and always there’s cotton pushing against a thrumming you can feel in your teeth that everyone else pretends not to notice. like they don’t notice you – no, you’re beneath notice_

_beneath a lot of things but pushing open that apartment door anyway, lights blinding you from the helicopter outside. they don’t last long, it veers off course, crashing into a nearby building in an orchestra of fire. she’s here, always, with you every time, a pressure bearing down as you grasp at the water filling your lungs, the spider kisses on your skin. she doesn’t even hate you, this is just the only way she knows how to help, the only thing she wants green and glass and someone screaming_

_who can’t be you – you’re breath is still in your throat, imprisoned there on the seashore as her mouth presses over yours, splayed fingers on your back holding you, promising even as she drops you, catching the band of your skirt–_

You jerk awake, sheets twisted around you soaked in sweat.

Ah fuck.

Can’t keep doing this. You’ve got two, maybe three? More? Lives to be leading. There isn’t time to sleep. There isn’t time for dreams or nightmares or… whatever fresh hell you’re suffering from now.

You kick your legs free of the sheets as you sit up, groaning. You know, some people never remember their dreams. That must be real fucking nice.

Used to nightmares at least. Can practically recite the night you fell by heart – not that the nightmare ever sticks to it perfectly. There’s always some variation, or distortion. Always shifting. Lights in the dark.

On that note, you don’t bother turning on the lights as you trudge into the bathroom. Another reason not to move out of your apartment. You know the layout by heart, can shower and dress in darkness. Don’t need to turn on a single light until it’s time to finish your face.

It’s still the dead of night. There’s nothing else for Jane to do, might as well let her rest. Maybe she’ll be less miserable tomorrow. Fixating too much on Ortega. Both of you are. It’s embarrassing. You’ve got a mission, goals. A smug asshole isn’t worth all this heartache.

Put down the brush, and stare at the circles under your eyes in the mirror. How is it all so clear now? Make up your mind, Ariadne.

Except well, you don’t need to, do you? There was never a choice. You are what you are. And she is who she is. Either she ends you or…

Wandering the city at night is not the safest activity you’ve ever partaken. Especially this part of town.

But it’s not the most dangerous either. What’re the odds an epileptic mugger tries to jump you? And if they do, so what? The headphones aren’t going to do any favors for your situational awareness either, but you need it tonight. One more wall between you and the world. Someone actually gets the best of you, good for them.

It’s a pointless concern. No one bothers you.

No one cares.

At some point, as light breaks through the tangle of skyscrapers, you find yourself standing at the entrance to the… memorial park? No, it’s that dog park near the Rangers HQ. The one you always make a point to avoid. Huh. That’s a long walk. Didn’t even realize. No one around but a few well-hidden homeless folk. You never would have had the guts to hide out somewhere like here back in the day. Too well patrolled. Too popular.

You keep walking until you find a clear bench. Don’t realize how much your legs hurt until you sit down. Fishing the bottle of aspirin out of your purse you pop two pills and settle back, closing your eyes. Get a fucking grip, chickadee.

_she asks you to stop but you push on ahead, stomach empty and head full of cotton. you can’t stop. nothing ever stops. no one stops. what was this for if you stop? why did she die like that if you stop? why did anyone die why are you here, doing this, you don’t belong anywhere but this room_

_the lights come on and that’s bad enough how many days now? you don’t know it’s the desert sweetheart you don’t even get a window seat anymore. not since last time. they’re getting tired of you. can only hope that’s true_

_can hear footsteps_

“Can’t say I expected to see you here.”

Cold terror floods your system. Instinctively you mind curls in, song wrapped for protection but there’s no crushing pressure bearing down. Stretch out and only –

“Chen.” You sigh, stretching your arms as you open your eyes. One arm goes to the headphones, pulling them down to hang around your neck. The sun’s fully in the sky now. How long were you asleep? Fuck.

“Ariadne.” Chen agrees. You blink sand out of your eyes as you glance over to him. He’s staring past you out into the field. Not wearing his usual prosthetics. These are more pared down. Civilian use? He’s dressed like an old war vet, not the imposing ever-frowning brick of a man you’re used to seeing him as.

It’s weird. Doesn’t feel right.

“What are _you_ doing here?” You snap, taking the offensive.

Chen points a plain metallic finger out towards the sleek grey dog chasing circles around a tree. “Was going to ask you the same question.”

Canine minds are more straightforward than humans, and their proximity to people makes them a lot easier to read than most animals. This one is totally lost in the joy of running.

“Was taking a – a walk.” You frown, watching the dog. “Sorry.”

That gets a confused note. “For what?”

“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have stopped here.”

“Ariadne, it’s…” Chen stops himself. “So. Where’s yours?”

“Huh? Mine?”

“Your dog?”

You blink. Takes a moment then – “Oh. Uh, no, no,” you laugh, anxious. “Can you imagine? Me in–in–in charge of another living creature?”

“Hrm.” Chen settles down next to you, a careful process in no small part to how the bench isn’t designed to accommodate the limited mobility of the civilian prosthetics. “I’d think you’d surprise yourself.”

“Don’t tell Ortega. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“So then why else would you be out here at the crack of dawn?”

“I…” your voice falters. Fuck. “You’re not my boss Chen.”

“No, I’m not.”

The dog runs back over to the two of you, paws on Chen’s lap as he ruffles his fur. “Easy boy.” It doesn’t feel real. Watching Chen act like this. Is he… god, is he actually smiling? Holy shit. He looks happy.

Of course, if Chen is happy, it pales in comparison to the dog, whose thoughts blind out his owner’s by comparison with their clarity. Gratitude, safety, comfort…

You rub at an eye. Twist your face away and quickly dig through your purse. Slide your sunglasses on. There. Now safe to face the day. Something presses into your leg and you go stock still. Silent scream caught in your mouth. And then something’s in your face, a bark and –

Chen calls out “Easy there, down boy. Get down.”

You put your hands down. Breath. Relax.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

“Sorry. He knows better than to do that.”

“It’s… It’s okay.” You lie. More out of habit than anything else. “He’s um… friendly.”

“It took a lot of work to get him to be this trusting.”

You turn to look at the grey head laying on Chen’s leg. “…yeah?”

“Was a racing dog. Before he got rescued. Now he gets to live a happy life in retirement.”

“Huh.” Is that why he’s muzzled? You’re just grateful not to be covered in slobber.

“You’re doing it again.”

You blink, shift focus away from the dog to Chen. “What? D–doing what?”

“That thing where you don’t ask names. Used to think it was just a telepath thing.” He returns your gaze, holding it. Unimpressed with you, what else is new?

“Oh.” You look away. Find a cloud to trace instead. “S–sorry. I just… well, I don’t know.”

“His name is Spoon, if that was you asking.”

“Spoon? Like… the silverware?”

Chen shakes his head. “Not quite.” He doesn’t elaborate. What are you supposed to make of this version of Chen? Hell, swear he looks smaller. Not trying to take up all available space, maybe? Trying to impress or impose or whatever the hell it is that Chen does on duty. Is this really Steel? A tired old man who lost too much and takes early morning walks with his dog?

“You zoning out again?”

You straighten in your seat, hands clenching your knees. “I am _not!_ I was just… thinking. That’s all.” You sigh, looking at Spoon. “He’s cute.”

“He’s handsome.” Chen corrects you. You snort and roll your eyes, waving the comment away. Whatever.

“Do you… always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Come out here like this?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

Chen pats Spoon on the side, and the dog takes off, racing across the field. No goals or finish lines, no competition. This isn’t fair. Now you’re jealous of a goddamn dog? “He’s lucky.” The words spill out before you can stop them.

“He is.” Chen agrees.

The two of you lapse into silence again, watching Spoon run his heart out. What are you supposed to do? What are you supposed to say? “When did y–you, um… get a dog?”

“After Heartbreak.”

“Oh.”

“They mandated therapy for all of us. Dog was the only suggestion out of that worth a damn.”

“He… makes you happy, huh.”

Chen glances over at you. “Had to read my mind for that one, did you?”

You turn away, staring down at your lap. “I… didn’t need to. Y–your um. Your face gives it away.”

More quiet.

“So… why the muzzle?”

“It’s in him to catch and bite what he chases. Doesn’t mean anything by it. Thinks he’s just playing. It’s as much for his own safety.”

You frown at that. Is that what you need? A chill runs down your back – memories of the Farm and of little yellow vials marked with black lines. No, absolutely not.

“I… uh.” You pull at the curls in your hair. Why are you talking about this? Chen doesn’t care. “I had a cat. Once.”

“Yeah?”

“A stray. So… like me, I guess.” Fidgeting with your fingers, pulling at the fabric of your skirt. “Only… they had a home. After all. Had to give them back.”

“That’s hard… You did the right thing.”

“Maybe. But… what if… what they hated that place? What if that was why they ran away? What if they’d do anything to – to not have to go back. To never be there again. If they would rather die then…”

Fuck.

You gather your things, hands shaking. “I’m – I’m sorry. I should – I need to go. I’m sorry.”

“Ariadne–”

“No, I’m sorry. I won’t – I won’t bother you again. I’m so sorry.” You push yourself up, and the world spins around you, vision draining away until there's an empty void.


	21. the past, it isn’t far away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chen off-duty is nothing like you expected.   
>  Tw: disordered eating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [No Lights on the Horizon] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qvm3_oXZZtg)

##  the past, it isn’t far away

Hands on you. Heart starts racing and you – you can’t move. Want to punch, to push, to get the fucking hell away and you–

“Ariadne? Hey, come on.”

Light filters back in behind a tinted screen – shades. Sunglasses. Your sunglasses. On your face? Oh – your left shoulder hurts, side of your head. And – there’s Chen. Awkwardly bent over you, hands pulling you upright.

You can move again and thank fuck. One hand brushes Chen off, the other to your head. Cotton fuzz, everything stays still but remains moving.

“Do you want an ambulance?”

You clench your hands. “Ab–absolutely not.”

“Didn’t think so.” There’s a note of disapproval. But Chen doesn’t push the issue. A small mercy. “This a common occurrence for you?”

You don’t answer right away, trying to will your balance to return. Need to get up. Need to get out of here. This is awful. Chen. Of all fucking people. One hand finds your headphones, the band pressing into your neck, still in one piece thank god.

“N–not exactly.” You answer.

“An encouraging response.”

“F–fuck off.” Try to push yourself up and you wobble. Have to sit back down. “Fuck.” Pushing your sunglasses up you press your palms into your eyes. Why is this happening? Why now of all times?

“Hrm.” Oh fuck off Chen. “When’s the last time you’ve eaten?”

“W–what?”

“When’d you have dinner last night?”

You drop your hands down, stare at the grass. Try to think. Try to recall. It… it would have to have been before Jane’s date with Ortega. Right? That was in the middle of the day.. but you woke up at night. But then… when _did_ you eat? There was that chocolate bar and then…?

You shake your head. “I don’t know.” Fuck, you idiot. Why did you admit that?

“Your blood sugar is probably shit.” A hand reaches down to you. “Come on. Let’s fix that.”

“Why are you…?” Frowning you take his hand, let him pull you to your feet. For a second your vision drains away and you think you might fall again, but it comes back. As soon as you can, you let go of Chen’s hand. Put some distance between you.

Chen ignores it, claps a hand to his side, “Com’on boy.” Spoon perks his head up and comes running. Paws on Chen’s front. Smiling, Chen gets out a leash, attaches it to the dog’s collar. Turning to you he gestures to the right with a twist of his shoulder. “It’s still early, but Bettie’s isn’t far. They’ll be open.”

“Okay.” You don’t understand why you agree.

True to Chen’s word, it’s not a long walk from the park. None of which feels real. Like you’re outside of yourself, watching your body move. Someone else is home, snakes in the grass coiled around your feet. It’s the only possible explanation why you haven’t booked it. Why you’re letting the Marshal of the Los Diablos Rangers lead you down the street.

‘Bettie’s’ turns out to be a coffee shop, a few tables adorn the street side. You find yourself sitting down at the first empty one. Chen nods. “I’ll order. You got a preference?”

“I…” You frown, staring at the metal lattice. “I don’t know. No.”

“Right.” Chen sighs. As if he didn’t expect anything else. “Watch Spoon for me, so I can go inside.”

You blink, jerk your head up. “What?”

“He’s excitable, so you want to do this…” He takes your hand, slipping the end of the leash into your fingers, wrapping it around your wrist a few times. “Just don’t let go. That’s all you need to do.”

You stare at him.

“Hopefully this doesn’t take long.” He turns, pushes the door and disappears outside. Spoon tries to follow, the end of the leash goes taunt, jerking your hand up and he whines before returning to you. Looks up expectantly.

Oh god.

Why is this happening?

Why is Chen entrusting his dog to you? Fuck. Vision flashes through your mind of being dragged along, skin flaying away against the cement as Spoon chases after a squirrel. Spoon stares up at you, head tilted. Watching. Waiting for you to do something interesting.

“Um.” Spoon’s ears perk up. “Hi.” With your free hand you slowly extend it out to him. Let him sniff it and then he pushes his head against you. Running fingers through the fur, you scratch him behind the ears. He definitely likes that.

Doesn’t seem fair that he has to be muzzled. Can feel it in the back of his mind. Wants to lick, taste, explore. Why did Chen think you could be trusted with this? Didn’t you just tell him you can’t? He seems like such a different person you're struggling to get a grip on it. Still quiet, you guess, but… a different kind of quiet.

You lose track of how much time passes, one hand idly rubbing Spoon’s fur. At one point he jerks away from you, tries to follow a passing man in a business suit. When he can’t, he returns for more head scratches.

“Ah. You’ve spoiled him.” The voice doesn’t sound disapproving.

You look up, blink the sleep out of your eyes. “Hola.”

Chen steps around the table, puts a plastic cup down in front of you and takes the other seat. “Banana-strawberry.” He offers by way of explanation. In his other hand a steaming brown liquid with streaks of white. Coffee.

You stare at the cup in front of you, straw, smooth pink texture… Smoothie? “Oh.”

“Fruit, plenty of sugar. That should help.”

You pull it closer with your free hand. Can feel Spoon tug against your other hand, trying to get Chen’s attention. “Um. You want him back?”

“Thanks.” He takes the leash from you, smiles at Spoon and ruffles his ears. God, smiling Chen is so weird to see.

“H–how much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But–”

“Don’t worry about it.” Chen waves your hand away. “Just finish it and don’t faint again today.”

You put the straw to your lips. Try not to think about how you got here. How humiliating this is. God if– “Please. Don’t tell Ortega about this.”

Chen frowns, looking more like his proper self. “She’s worried about you.”

“I… I know. She shouldn’t be. This won’t help.”

“You’re a worrying person.”

Something twists in your gut and you have to put the drink down. “W–w–what does that mean?”

“You need to take better care of yourself.” The knot in your gut relaxes. “You’re lucky I was there this time.”

“Yeah well, maybe it’d be for the best.” You snap back, hunching down in your chair. Of course. He doesn’t actually care. This is just another chance to lord himself over you.

His frown doesn’t let up. Don’t like that response? Too bad fucker. He reaches a hand up to his jacket pocket. It’s an extended process but eventually he pulls out a worn looking photograph. “There’s… something I should return to you. I was never really sure what the right time would be.”

You stare at him. Now suddenly he’s nervous? “What are you t–talking about?”

He puts the photograph on the table and pushes it over to you. “Something I found while looking for you.”

You take the picture. It’s creased into quarters, a dark red stain washes out the bottom left corner but the main subjects are still visible. A smiling woman with long blond hair, maybe just entering middle age. Her arm is around a slightly shorter figure with green eyes and ruffled red hair, the ends just starting to curl up. An awkward, unpracticed smile on their face.

Something in the back of your head itches, that’s you in the picture, isn’t it?

That’s you?

You frown.

“It was left behind at an apartment. The landlord held on to some things thinking he was going to sell it back, so I took it as evidence.” Chen waits until you look up at him. “That’s you and Chelsea?”

You can’t look at the picture. You can’t stop looking. You swallow. Dizzy again. “…W–why do you… have this just… on you?”

“Couple years back,” Chen starts, “Sniper hit me. I was looking at it,” he gestures towards the photo, “…on a whim. Turned just the right angle that I lost my arm instead of my life. Kept it as a lucky charm since then.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

“It was a reminder to me.”

“A… reminder?”

“To be more careful about the conclusions I draw.”

You frown. What the hell is he getting at? “That’s…” You put the photo down. Arms shaking, holding up your head. “That’s really weird, Chen.”

Chen doesn’t say anything.

“Well… it’s – it’s yours now. Don’t um. Don’t let me take your lucky charm away.”

“I think you should keep it.”

“Fuck. I…” An anxious laugh bubbles out of your throat. “I don’t know what to… to s–say.”

“That’s fine.”

When the two of you finally part, you take the photo with you, folded up and tucked into your purse. You don’t know what kind of game Chen thinks he’s playing here but – you can’t bring yourself to let it go.


	22. I can’t speak but you ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Let’s do something fun’ she suggests. You idiot.
> 
> Tw: past sexual abuse; disordered eating; emetophobia; self-harm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Empty Head] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CQ6RHHfKMZY)
> 
> [ [too much sun too soon] ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20938442/chapters/49779419)

##  I can’t speak but you ask

Another day, another evening where you find yourself walking the street next to Ortega. Villain activities are still on pause. Waiting to see what you get out of the bugs Jane planted. And now suddenly you’re finding yourself flush with free time. Free time spent eyeing your walking companion. The way her turquoise jacket hangs off her shoulders, the sleeves bunching up at the elbow. How the light catches through her ruffle of short black hair, exposing a few grey streaks.

Just – just coincidental details. That’s all.

“Hey.” Ortega grins over at you. “It’s New Years, we should do something fun before everything interesting closes.”

“…fun?” You frown. “Like… what?”

“When was the last time you’ve been to Hoots?”

“How is going to some dive bar fun?”

“Dive bar!?” Ortega clutches her chest like you’ve shot her. “We used to eat there all the time, remember?”

“Y–yeah, but–”

“And then it’s not far to the beach afterwards.”

“Uh-huh.” You cross your arms, fighting the smile on your face. “If you get a–a–a cramp out there, I’m letting you drown.”

“Now that; I don’t believe for a second.” Ortega’s smile is cocky and assured and unbearable to look at. No idea. She has no idea.

You get a taxi to Hoots, light conversation shooting the shit. Ortega’s still as interested in baseball as ever. Optimistic about the career of some amateur player trying to get into the big leagues. A boost, so automatically disqualified. There’s a case pending before the courts.

The court is stacked conservative, 6 to 3. It’s hard to share Ortega’s optimism.

“Oh yeah?” Ortega leans in, “That’s how it works, Ari. What’s your solution?”

You shake your head. “Change how – how it works. Term limits on judges, expand the court. Expand the house. Outlaw gerrymandering.”

“You’ve thought about this.”

“Uh…” You look out the car window. “That’s just – that’s just the obvious stuff, you know? There’s um, a lot of work that needs to be done…” Like uprooting the Special Directive.

“We’ll see, I guess.”

“Y–yeah. We’ll see.” You take the chance to turn the conversation to movies. A topic that last you out of the car and into the restaurant.

“Do you ladies want to put in your drinks or are you ready to order?”

You jerk your head up. How long have you been staring at the menu? Didn’t you just get here? “Um.” You nod at Ortega. “I’m ready,” you lie, “you?”

“Sure.” She turns to the server, smiling, “Think I’ll get an Old Fashioned, medium. And…” She runs a finger down the menu. “A Blue Moon.”

The server mouths the order under his breath as he writes it down. “And you, miss?”

You put up a hand when the server turns to you, “Just, um, just some water is fine. Not hungry today.”

“Ari…” Ortega looks over at you with upturned eyebrows. “Have you eaten today?”

You can feel your face heat up as you sink down in the seat. “Chen told you, didn’t he?”

She looks mystified. “Told me what? Wait,” She frowns, concerned. “Did you faint again?”

“It’s fine – it’s nothing.” you hiss.

“Ari…” Ortega starts.

“It’s fine.” You repeat, cutting her off. “Look. Um.” You glance at the server, jabbing your menu at him. “I’ll have the, um – the same as her.”

“Thank you very much.” Ortega winks at the server again as she turns in her menu. You don’t need telepathy to know she’s got the poor kid hooked. God, you swear she’s gotten even worse compared to the old days.

Or maybe you’ve gotten more sensitive to it.

Ortega leans back with a smile as the server leans. “Feels homey here.”

“Y–you know, you could – could do this.” You prop your head up with an arm on the table, “just retire, get a bar…” your smile grows sharp, “flirt with, the um, the customers all day…”

“I don’t flirt.” Ortega pointedly avoids looking at you as she fails to keep the grin off her face. There’s a twinge and her smile fades, “It’s moot anyway, I’m not retired any more. Blew that chance.”

You look up at her, trying to read the expression on her face. “You ever regret going back?” What do you need to do or say to get her to stop? She quit once, why can’t she quit again? Before she gets hurt.

Ortega’s response however is immediate, “Nope.” She gives you a look, “Do you regret retiring?”

You lean back from the table, focus on looking out the window. You should just lie, say everything’s fine. Nothing to worry about here but then you open your mouth and – “I… I don’t know. M–maybe.” You close your eyes and for a moment it feels like the weeks of sleepless nights might catch up with you, pull you under. Then you cringe, shake your head, feel the little pinpricks of pain courtesy your hand digging too tight into your leg.

“Ariadne…”

“D–don’t even start.”

“I’m not asking you to… unretire,” The smile has vanished from Ortega’s face, voice low. “Just to do something about it.”

Watch her from the corner of your eye. Still can’t understand it, why is she trying so hard? What does she care for? “Funny.” Try to keep your face blank, “Thought I was.”

“Is…” Ortega sighs and you catch her glancing around before focusing back on you. “Is the therapy helping any?”

“Oh.” You flinch, turn back from the window to stall for time with a drink from your glass. “I don’t know…” You gesture helplessly at the ceiling. “Maybe? It’s… it’s a lot. I–I–I don’t want to talk about it right now… S–sorry.”

Still bad enough what you’ve admitted to Dr. Finch. The sleepless nights, the nightmares when you do fall asleep. You keep dancing around the big stuff, even just talking around it is hard. Maybe not in detail but – acknowledging it at all… it’s like something reaches up from inside you and wrenches your throat shut, vocal chords inoperable. Ortega’s already bad enough, she doesn’t need to know this.

“It’s fine,” Ortega lies. She’s always too curious for her own good. “I’m just happy you’re going.”

You narrow your eyes at her, “D–don’t rub it in, Ortega.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She sips at her beer but her eyes betray the smile on her face.

“Liar.” You drum your fingers on the table, glance over the heads of the crowd towards the back of the restaurant. “Um – How long do you think they’ll take?”

Ortega shrugs, a half smile on her face as she watches you. “The Old Fashioned always takes longer,” she explains, like you could have forgotten.

“I know,” you cut her off, “they use actual beef. I remember.” You and Ortega must have eaten out at Hoots at least once a week those last two years. Too many nights together, just the two of you. This is starting to feel–

“I was feeling a little nostalgic.” Ortega shrugs, still smiling.

You huff and raise an eyebrow at her. “Oh, so it’s y–your fault.”

She laughs, “You ordered it too.”

“Also your fault.” You allow yourself a smirk, “You can… um – make it up to me later.” Oh, why did you say that?

A long, slow smile spreads across Ortega’s face until it reaches her eyes, “I wish you’d let me do exactly that.” It’s like she took that wink directed at the server, turned it up to 11 and put you on blast.

“Th–th–that’s not– um…” You bite your lip, and focus on the cars passing by outside, a tinge of heat on your face as your heart races.

“Mmm? Cat got your tongue, Ari?”

You slide down your seat, “J–j–just shut up. Think about w–what you’ll eat.” You hiss.

“Already am.”

You glance up at her and the smile alone is already is too much and then she winks at you and oh god –

You bury your face in your hands. Shouldn’t have taken off the sunglasses, you’re too exposed without them. “J–j–jesus Christ, Ortega…” What were you thinking, trying to flirt with Ortega? The woman has no sense of shame, and you? Far too much. God. Why can’t you be normal?

The laughter rings in your ears long after it ends. “You okay under there, Ari?”

“Oh,” your voice cracks, “j–j–just wishing I, um, I was d–d–dead is all.”

“What happened to all that earlier confidence?”

She hasn’t forgotten about the kiss at either the hospital or the beach, it appears. Neither have you, of course.

“Th–this is – this is different.” Too real. Too out of your control. Ortega is a current and you’re just along for the ride. “I–I–I’m trying…” You can’t keep doing this. This has to stop. You’re just setting her up for an even worse heartache down the line.

It isn’t fair, really. You’ve cast off their rules and you’re still as powerless as ever.

There’s an uneven smile on Ortega’s face. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

You glare at her, suspicious, from between your fingers. “See what day?”

She’s trying not to smile so brightly. Trying and failing. “Oh, well…” She gestures towards you. “You seem like you’re doing a lot better lately.”

Seriously? You put your arms down, lean back unimpressed. “And what does that mean?”

“Well, you stopped dressing like a hobo for one–”

You gasp, throw your napkin at her, “W–what was wrong with the hoodies!?”

Ortega laughs as she grabs it out of the air. “–you certainly seem like you’re keeping busy these days, and…”

“And what, Ortega?”

She gives you a sly grin, one hand around her drink. “And you certainly seem to be getting back in shape.”

You feel your face warm up.

“Oh yeah,” she tilts her head towards you, “also, you’re smiling more.”

A hand shoots up to cover your mouth and you narrow your eyes at Ortega’s beaming face. “Shut up,” you hiss. “It’s–it’s–it’s your fault.”

“My fault?” Ortega laughs.

“It – it’s because you won’t leave me alone.” You jab an accusatory finger in her direction. “Always f–f–fussing, worrying…” Your hand wilts and you look away, her eyes on you suddenly too much. “And I don’t – don’t want you to worry.”

“Ari…?” Ortega’s voice sounds like she’s a million miles away. “Are you okay?”

You dig your nails into your arm, “I’m fine.” Your response is maybe a little too fast. You wince. Then, after a moment’s silence add: “I’m… glad we’re friends again.” When you turn back to her, Ortega is looking straight at you with a small, sad smile. “W–what?”

“Nothing, I’m just… glad?”

“Glad?”

“To have you back?” She shrugs and rubs at the back of her neck. “It’s like I can finally… move on now. I don’t want to be the Marshal that screwed up and got half her team killed.”

Hands fiddle with the napkin in front of you and you don’t quite meet her eyes. “Ortega… I told you, it wasn’t–”

“Ari…” There’s a heavy sigh, “Let’s not do this right now.”

There’s a switch. You look up at her, “Julia?”

She straightens up as she looks over your shoulder, “And here’s our food!”

You frown. Let the server deliver the food. Chew your lip as Ortega broadens her smile, laughs a little too loudly with the server. Prod the hamburger in front of you. It’s huge. To say nothing of the generous pile of fries framing it on the plate. There’s no way you’re eating this all in one sitting, Ortega watching you or no.

But you’re getting distracted. “Th–this is new.” You say, once the server has left again.

That gets her attention, “What is?”

“You not w–wanting to talk about something.”

Her response is distant, defensive. “Well, everybody has things they don’t want to talk about.

“I guess that’s true.” As much as you want to push this harder, well, “I know I d–do.”

Now Ortega’s picking at her fries, as bad as you. “There’s a lot of shit I regret about back then. Thought I’d have to live with it forever.”

Regret?

She brightens up a little, “But now you’re here. And alive.”

“Like n–nothing ever changed.”

Did that come off too bitter? Ortega winces. “Or…” She twists a fry in her fingers, “maybe everything has.”

“Everything come out alright, girls?” The server is back and you have to fight to keep your face blank as Ortega smiles at him.

“It’s amazing, give my compliments to the cook, won’t you?” She winks and you could swear you feel the boy’s heart rate spike.

“And th–there’s something that hasn’t changed,” you mutter as the server leaves. You’d swear he’d float if he could.

“What?” Ortega frowns, like she doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Flirting with the– with the staff again?”

“What?”

Picture of innocence? Please.

You grit your teeth. “You know what I’m talking about Julia.” You should just drop this. Don’t let her get to you. In fact, why do you even care? You don’t. Care that is. Why would you? Absurd.

She hides her smile with another drink. “Why would you even, hm…”

“W–what?” You voice pitches up, “Even – even what?”

“Ariadne,” her smile is a little too broad for your liking and you can feel your face warm. “Are you jealous?”

“I – I don’t–” You sink down in your seat under Ortega’s full attention. “Y–you flirt with– with everybody. How am I s–supposed to–to–to know what you, um– what you mean?”

Ortega stays focused on you, but her expression shifts. Less confident, more guarded. “You can be pretty hard to read yourself, you know.”

You focus on the hamburger in front you, still untouched. Take a breath, in then out. “Th–there’s easy– easier ways of f–finding out.”

The hole of Ortega’s silence against the background noise of the bar feels overwhelming. You’re about to get up, make some excuse of needing to use the restroom when Ortega shifts in her seat too and you freeze. Look up at her.

She catches your eye, holds your gaze. “Alright.” She takes a breath, makes a face as she thinks. “Well, Ariadne, it would… appear that I seem to be having a crush on you.”

“Oh.” You sit back down. It feels like you’ve been punched in the lungs, “fuck.” You bury your face in your hands again, feeling lightheaded. You’re going to wake up at any moment now. Right?

Ortega watches you with a wry look, “I don’t know how to interpret that.”

Slam your hands down on the table, narrowly avoid spilling your water. “F–f–fuck! Fine! Asshole! J–jackass! Y–y–you’re h–h–hot! Okay!?”

“Ariadne–”

You’re spiraling out of control now, hands holding on to the sides of your head. “Y–you’re r–r–really p–pretty and – and s–smart and k–kind and–and–and…” You glare at her, daring her to say something. “I–I–I c–c–can’t stop thinking about you!”

Ortega blinks. “Wow.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire and you slide down the seat. “F–f–fuck.”

“You went all-in there.”

“F–fuck you.”

“Only if you’re good.”

You blanche and look back up at her.

“I’m sorry, that was hard for you, I get it.” She’s not… smiling exactly, but there’s this soft glow on her face. The way her eyes focus on you and – oh god. “Thank you.”

“Th–thank you?”

“For… I don’t know?” She laughs nervously, “For this? For saying something?”

This… this can’t really be happening. This isn’t how you imagined this conversation going in a million years. This isn’t something you deserve, and you’ve got one last card you can throw at her to prove it. “So… w–what about Jane?”

The expression on Julia’s face freezes. “Ah. You… you know about Jane then?”

“D–did you think I– that I wouldn’t?”

She winces, “It’s not exactly come up.”

It’s like grabbing the blade of a knife with your bare hands but you don’t let go. “You go on d–dates to public events, Ortega.”

“Ah. That is true…”

You knew it. You knew this was too good to be true. Why would Ortega ever want to date something like you when there’s someone like Jane? Younger, prettier, funnier, able to do things you never can.

“I hope she doesn’t take it too hard.”

Wait, what? You straighten up in your seat. “Huh?”

Ortega rubs her neck, avoiding your eyes. “I guess I haven’t really been fair to Jane. Especially lately, It’s just…”

“Just w–what?” What is she talking about?

“Nothing,” Ortega shakes her head in a way that makes you think it’s very much not nothing.

“W–wait. You’d… you’re seriously go–going to break up with her?” You feel faint again.

“Honestly? Jane’s a nice girl, but…” Ortega smiles at you, fingers playing with her fork, “But you or Jane? It’s no contest, Ari.”

“Just like that?” This is too wild.

“Look. You want the truth?” Ortega sighs, takes another drink. “I was trying to get over you.”

“Oh.” Your voice is quiet and your body feels entirely too light. “W–w–well. Th–that worked out, huh?”

The smile returns to her face, “Now I can enjoy fantasizing about kissing you, guilt free.”

“Wait, what?”

Like old times, Ortega insists on paying for you. You can’t hide the smile during your perfunctory argument. You feel light-headed, but in a good way. Like you could pull a Herald and float an inch off the ground. You don’t put up a fight when Ortega insists you take the rest of your dinner home with you. Maybe you’ll actually finish eating later, like you promised you would.

Ortega follows behind you out of the bar as you gently shove the box into your purse. “Well,” she says, “I think that might be the best dinner I’ve had in months. But you know what would make an even better desert?”

You close your eyes as you knowingly step into the trap. “What?”

She glances at you, as smug as anything. “You.”

Even knowing it’s coming doesn’t stop your face from catching fire. You spin on your heel, intending to shush her with your finger. Instead she catches your hand by the wrist. “You’ve got some ketchup on your finger, Ari.”

Some kind of half-strangled squeak comes out of your throat as Ortega kisses the tip of your finger. There’s a flash of a smile at your reaction and she sucks your finger into her mouth – warm and soft and wet and oh fucking christ. You yank your hand back from her. Ears burning as you stagger back a step.

Before you can collapse or fall over Ortega grabs your arm again and pulls you towards her and you fall against her instead into the street. “Christ Julia…”

Ortega laughs, “Sorry, was that too forward?”

“Just – um, just surprised.” You find yourself laughing too, and then relaxing against her chest, letting her arms hold you up.

“So then…?” She glances down at you, questioning and you find yourself brushing your hair back. Smile a little too widely. She smiles back and tugs you along. Past Hoots, and then down into the alleyway.

Somehow find your back against the brickwork, Ortega is framed by the light, holding you there. You could probably get free but she’s got a firm grip. As if she’s afraid.

Fuck.

You put a hand over hers on your shoulder. Heart pounding and you can’t think straight, can’t focus. It’s just you and her and you’re not running away from this, not this time. What have you got yourself into, girl?

Ortega leans in, that stops, hesitating – “Hey, can I…?”

You laugh first, light nervous energy thrumming across your limbs and then Ortega joins in. Laughter melts into touch and breath and you’re really doing this? Kissing Ortega again, lips on her skin, between her teeth. It feels different, not an act of madness, a different kind of electricity coiling in your gut. Julia’s hand at your back, holding you steady, splayed fingers brushing against bare skin under your shirt–

Your heart seizes and you freeze, one hand digging into her arm a little too tightly.

Ortega pulls back, letting go. “Ari? Are you alright? What happened?”

You run your hands down your front, tug your shirt down. Nothing can be exposed, nothing can be showing. “It’s f–f–fine.” Your hands are shaking in betrayal but there’s not a lot you can do about that. You messed up. You screwed up. What were you thinking?

You can’t do this.

Be this.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

She steps away, giving you space, “It’s obviously not fine, Ari… Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re fine!” You hunch down, hugging yourself, struggling to remember your breathing exercises. “It–it–it isn’t your – your fault, I just – I just…” You feel dizzy, nauseous. Almost wish Julia would at least hold you, but she doesn’t, giving you space instead.

“It’s okay! Ari, you’re okay” She’s watching you with worried eyes and it’s a twist of the knife. Impossible not to pretend. You’re damaged. A weirdo, a freak. What kind of person reacts like this? Normal people don’t. _People_ don’t.

How could you forget? What’s wrong with you? You’re a thing, a ghost. You’ve got no business getting involved with Julia like this, and now she can see it. Plain as day.

“It’s – It’s not,” your voice breaks, “I n–n–need to – need to go.”

This was a mistake.

You turn to escape and something pulls your arm, holds you back even as you tense up. Follow Julia’s hand up to her face, worried. Concerned. “Ari, talk to me. Please.”

Shake your hand free, still trembling. “I–I–I can’t. I just – I can’t. I–I’m sorry.”

* * *

Shaking, trembling hands push the door shut behind you, and you twist the lock. Shift the book pile over to block the door. You’re back in your apartment. Can’t even remember walking back. Still shaking. Heart pounding. Lungs hurt. Fuck.

It isn’t fair.

Keep sabotaging yourself. Pulling punches, holding back, you’re a failure. First you failed at being a good tool, then you failed at being a good person, now you’re failing at being a bad one. This is – this is absurd.

Hands shaking you stagger robotically over to the kitchen. Been awhile since you’ve been this hopeless. This stupid traitor body. You couldn’t have at least kept your cool long enough to be subtle about it, Ariadne? Had to just fucking – fuck! You need control. You need…

Pull open a drawer – wrong one, move over. This drawer is the right one. Moving to the sink you turn on the hot water, letting it run. Pull up your sleeve.

Fucking hate this.

Hate this stupid body you never even wanted.

Metal to your skin, and… and…

You let up. Only a thin white mark. Fuck.

Fuck!

Screaming, you turn away. Drop your arm and throw the knife across the room. It clatters against the wall and falls to the floor. Goddamnit. Doesn’t even have the grace to fucking stick fucking shit. Hell.

You turn the water off, stagger over to the unmade bed and fall in, face down. Shift position, catch sight of the photograph propped up on the bedside table. You haven’t seen Chelsea in eleven years. And, be real Ariadne, you barely even knew the woman. Why did Chen have to give you this goddamn picture?

Why do they all have to care?

Why does she have to smile at you?

Why does it hurt so much?


	23. too much sun too soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You need help.   
>  Tw: past sexual abuse; suicidal thoughts, emetophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [too much sun too soon] ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20938442/chapters/49779419)
> 
> [ [Best To Hate The Man] ](https://youtu.be/GcSB5RbZuwQ)

##  too much sun too soon

Your phone buzzes in your purse and you bite down on the inside of your cheek. Probably another message from Ortega. Or maybe it’ll be Herald this time. Wondering why you’ve stood him up. If he does ask, should you answer? Come up with an excuse? Would that make things better or worse?

When Dr. Finch enters the room, she does so carefully. A notebook tucked under one arm, one hand holds a cup of coffee, the other a mug of hot chocolate. The steam curls off in twin trails, gently spun by the ceiling fan. She sets the chocolate down on the coffee table in front of you before settling into her own chair.

“Good morning, Ariadne,” Dr. Finch, smiles. “How have been doing this week?”

You give a weak smile and bend down to take the mug in your hands, feel the singe of heat on your fingers contrast against the chill of the A/C. “I’m… I’m still here.”

“I’m glad you are.” You can’t pick up any duplicity there, but it’s hard to believe.

These sessions were supposed to be only once a month. That’s what you promised Ortega. And yet… here you are, two weeks after your last talk with Dr. Finch, having made an emergency appointment. After…

After last night. Or really – it’s been every night for a week now. But you’re not going to admit to that. What are you supposed to do with five gallons of bleach now? How could you be so wasteful? Stupid.

You curl back into the chair, legs folded under you, bringing the mug close to your chest. Steam paints clouds across the lenses of your sunglasses. “I don’t know that I am.”

Finch already has her notebook open, pen in one hand, coffee in the other. “Did you try the exercises I gave you?”

“Yes.” You say immediately, then when Dr. Finch doesn’t say anything you take a sip of hot chocolate, let it burn your throat. “…no.”

Again, that frustrating lack of judgement as Finch watches you. “You’re not sure?”

You almost laugh, jostling the mug. “I don’t – I don’t deserve it.”

“To feel better?” Finch scribbles something in her notebook, the concern in her thoughts is cool, almost calming.

You bite your lip, nod your head.

“What makes you think you don’t deserve to feel better?” Finch glances down to her notepad – Writing? Doodling? Can’t tell from here. But you can still feel her focus on you.

Maybe the chocolate wasn’t the best idea after all. You can already feel the nausea eating at you. “There’s…. there’s a lot of things. But…”

Finch waits for you to continue.

You squeeze your eyes shut hard enough to hurt. “I–I–I don’t know how to–” Your voice strains upwards. Sharp note. “To – to talk about it.”

That one’s true enough. You can’t exactly dump everything on this poor woman and expect to get away with it. So much effort to keep everything in, it’s like you lost the key to open the door again.

“Why don’t we practice then?” She glances up at you again. “Whatever’s at the top of your mind. Doesn’t matter what.”

“Whatever’s at the top of…” You bite your lip. Your mind’s gone blank now. You could laugh, or cry, or both. “Fuck.” You take a long drink from your mug. Put it back on the coffee table before drawing your knees up against your chest. Wrap your arms around your legs. “D–d–do you… know who–” you flinch, back away from the question, “w–what I am?”

You can only pick up professional curiosity behind Dr. Finch’s polite smile. “I’m happy to listen to whatever you want to share with me, Ariadne.”

“Y–yeah, well… I– I wasn’t – um…” you’re teetering on the edge here. How many years since you’ve had a conversation like this? Since anyone knew? You’re so tired of hiding. Of being alone. “I wasn’t uh – born a woman.”

Finch scribbles something in her notebook and you can feel the anxiety twist in your gut. “Transgender…?”

Grip your legs tighter against you. “Yeah.”

“I’m honored you’ve decided to share this with me.”

That gets a sharp look from you, again, you can’t pick out any duplicity behind her words. If you were smarter, less desperate, you wouldn’t trust it. “D–don’t patronize me.”

“I’m being completely sincere.” Again, to your frustration, she appears to be telling the truth. “This is clearly a difficult subject for you, and I’m honored you’ve trusted me with it.”

“I–I–I just… need you to – to uh, well, to understand the context,” you swallow, the tightness in your throat is a pain, “when I – when I say I… k–k–kissed Ortega.”

“Again?”

You hiss and pull yourself tighter, hide your face behind your knees. “More than that…” You take a breath. “She… she said she’s… um. Well. And then I… I told her that I… god.” You bury your face in your hands.

Dr. Finch watches you with a soft smile as you lapse into silence. “I’m proud of you, Ariadne.”

You snap your head up, “What? _Why_?” Fight back the temptation to just dig out the answer yourself.

Finch is writing something in her notebook but she pauses to smile at you again. “In the short time we’ve known each other, I’ve learned almost as much about Miss Ortega as I have you.”

Wait, what?

“So,” Finch continues, “it’s been pretty clear to me that you care about her a great deal. I’m glad you were able to be open and honest about your feelings. That’s a big step.”

“B–but…”

“Yes?”

You press your head against your knees, fingers digging into your legs. “She… she doesn’t know.” Nausea again. Hands shaking, breathing a little too quickly.

Finch’s voice is calm, gentle. “Doesn’t know what?”

You laugh, bitter. “What d–doesn’t she know?” And so much of it you can never tell Finch. “She… she doesn’t know I was–” You flinch, change tracks, “That I’m transgender. So… when we… um. Well. After dinner she – she uh, pulled me into this alley and we… we were going to–to–to uh, like, make-out?” Your voice pitches upward. “I guess?” You dig into your leg, finger tracing patterns. “Except I… I panicked. We stopped… she knew something wasn’t right so I – I just ran.”

“I’m sorry that happened.” Dr. Finch says, quiet and honest as ever.

“I–I–I haven’t talked to her since. That… was a week ago.” You frown. “I think.”

“What prompted you to call me last night?”

“I…” You drift off, avoid her looking at you. You don’t want to admit to having stared at the bottle of kitchen bleach a little too long last night. What if she suggests something? Alerts someone? You can’t risk it.

So instead you say: “She – she keeps trying to contact me. Wants to talk. About it.”

“I think it would be good for you to do that.”

“W–why?” You snap back, “I–I’m just – just a drain on her. And – and now she knows.” You bite your lip. “M–maybe not exactly, b–but that I’m… I’m messed up. B–broken.”

Dr. Finch leans in, focusing on you. You wish she wouldn’t. “What makes you feel that way?”

“W–what way?”

“Why use that word? ‘Broken’?”

“It’s… I mean…”You gesture at yourself, “Look at me. It’s the truth, isn’t it? I… I can’t sleep. I forget to eat. I freak out over the – the dumbest stuff… I can’t go outside without wearing sunglasses – I mean… I’ve – I have never been good at being normal and now I’m just…” You collapse into silence, throat aching. Pained pinching behind your eyes.

“Alright.” Dr. Finch’s voice is quiet, only the sound of her pen scratching against paper. “Looks like we’ve got a lot to talk about in future sessions. But first, two things.” Finch finishes scribbling something down. “The first, is that you’ve been through a lot in your life. That doesn’t mean you’re ‘broken.’ And neither does being transgender. It’s okay to not always ‘be’ okay.”

You stay quiet. It’s easier than arguing. You wish it was true.

“Second, I’ll remind you who got you into this room to begin with. I sincerely doubt that the fact you are struggling at times is a surprise to Miss Ortega.”

This one you can’t leave alone. “I–I–I’m such – such a burden on her though.” Not to mention her enemy. Not that you can confess that, even here.

“Has she ever said as such to you?”

You avoid Finch’s gaze. “N–n–no, but – she… she keeps saying I worry her.”

“And that bothers you.”

You look across the room at Finch, feeling helpless. “Yes?”

“Why?”

Your mouth feels dry, throat tight. You pull at your hair, avoiding looking at Finch. “I–I… I don’t know. I…” You laugh, nervous energy overwhelming you. “I–I’m scared?”

“You’re scared of Ortega worrying about you?”

You laugh. “I – I guess I am.”

“Why?”

You stay quiet. Mind locked up in a silent panic. There’s an answer in there somewhere but it’s too terrible, too painful to grasp.

Finch shuffles some papers. “It’s okay to let people care about you.”

“Now you sound like Ortega…”

“But there’s more at play here, isn’t there?”

Your heart freezes, and a tight smile forms on Dr. Finch’s face.

“Why do you think you panicked?”

You swallow, digging your fingers into your leg. Nausea churning at the back of your throat. “I… I um….”

“Take your time. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.” You whisper.

Finch’s voice sounds like it’s coming from a thousand miles away. “How are you feeling right now?”

“S–scared.” You chew the inside of your cheek until you can taste blood. “I… It’s not like… I _don’t_ like Ortega. I – I want to – but I–” your voice pitches up, throat tight, “I _can’t._ ”

“We briefly talked about your being transgender before. Does that have something to do with why you find this so difficult?”

You choke back a laugh before it can turn into a sob. Yeah, sure, that’s one of the many impossibilities about this. You’d forgotten you were using that as the shield to even have this conversation.

Finch’s voice is quiet, “You don’t have to tell her anything you don’t want to Ari.”

“B–but…”

“Do you want to?”

Tell Ortega? And then where does it stop? You might as well ask her to ship you back to the Farm from the start and get it over with.

“Or… Or…” You grit your teeth, swallow hard. “I c–could just… avoid Ortega forever.”

Finch watches you with sad eyes and she really is trying her best. It’s not her fault she doesn’t have the full picture. “But is that going to make you happy, Ariadne?”

You don’t even laugh as you sink into the chair. “Like that’s ever mattered.”

“It does matter.”

“No it doesn’t.” You snap back at her, automatically.

Dr. Finch sighs and shuffles some papers, flipping through her notebook. Her frustration with you is clear in her thoughts. “We’re running out of time for today, but I’d like to continue this sooner rather than later.”

You watch her as she taps a pen against paper.

“How are you for this time next week? Would you be willing to meet then?”

Part of you wants to say no, but… she wants to help. She… cares somehow. As nonsensical as it is. It’s not like you’ll be busy that day now that you’re planning on avoiding Ortega until the end of time.

“Ariadne?” Dr. Finch is looking at you.

You cough, “Th–that’s fine. I’d… I’d like that.”

Are you lying or being honest?

You can never tell anymore.


	24. the end is coming ‘round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ve been working with the reporter Mia Ochoa for months now, and it’s starting to pay off big time. That is, if you don’t manage to completely sabotage yourself first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [In A Spiral] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WzGSI8XYPHs)   
>  [ [these sweet instincts ruin my life] ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20992226)

##  the end is coming ‘round

“You were right, it does exist.” Mia Ochoa toys with the sealed envelope in her hand. “This is… and the DHS covered it up. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Jane’s smile is cold, you knew bringing in Ochoa onto this case would prove to be the right choice. “I’m sure you’ll figure out the missing pieces, Ochoa. You’ve always been resourceful.”

“A complete regeneration device…” Ochoa’s voice is hushed, awed. “No stem cells needed, no cloning required. It’s miracle science.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Jane nods. “And who benefits by keeping it away from the public?”

Ochoa frowns, then sighs and hands over the envelope. “They’re auctioning it off under The Boulevard Casino of all places.”

Shit. “That’s Hollow Ground territory.” Jane slips the envelope in her pocket.

“Exactly.” Ochoa nods. You don’t need telepathy to read the question on the woman’s face. How is government repossessed property showing up in a black market auction?

The ringing of Jane’s cellphone pulls her out of her head, a quick glance down at the number makes her heart skip a beat. “Excuse me, I need to take this. I’ll get back to you about arranging that interview with Banshee.”

Ochoa sighs, “You better. We’re _more_ than even now.” There’s a pained expression on her face. “Not going public with this is killing me.”

Tight smile. “And your discretion is appreciated Ochoa, I’ll be in touch.” Jane gathers her things and waves goodbye to the reporter. Walking briskly away from the park bench she flips her phone open. “Julia! It’s good to hear from you again.” Try to keep the ice out of her voice. “Finally.”

Ortega’s voice is scratchy on the other end of the phone. “It’s… good to hear you too, Jane.” There’s a pause. “Listen, are you busy right now?”

Jane tilts her head, slows her walking pace. “Just finished some work stuff. Why? What’s up?”

“Can we meet? Our usual coffee shop?”

A worm of anxiety turns in Jane’s gut. “Y–yeah? Sure. I’ll be right over. Give me like, twenty minutes, tops?”

“Great. I’ll meet you there.”

It’s been a week with no Ortega at the training Dojo, no response to Jane’s calls, and now a call today, of all days? You shouldn’t let it get to you. It’s just a coincidence. Don’t worry about it. Focus on the Regenerator instead. It’s real, and it’s even within your reach. A device that provides full cellular revitalization and regeneration. Black-market technology seized by the government and its creator company’s assets frozen and shut down.

If you could get your hands on something like that, you wouldn’t have to try to topple the entire United States government. You could just… excise your tattoos. The brand that marks you as government property finally gone. Maybe even do more than that. You could finally be free. Be yourself. Live your own life.

* * *

Ortega sighs, one hand on the back of her neck, the other holding her coffee. “Jane, we uh… we need to talk.”

Jane smiles up at Ortega as they exit the coffee shop together, “Sure Julia, what’s up?”

Ortega’s pace picks up, fast enough that Jane has to power walk to avoid falling behind. “Look, there’s… there’s no easy way to say this–”

You can feel Jane’s shoulders tense, the smile on her face becomes brittle. “Is everything okay? Do we need to reschedule our next date?”

“Jane…” Ortega stops in her tracks, still not looking at Jane. “Please.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Look, I… I don’t think this uh, this thing between us is… working out.”

No… Tightening her grip on her plastic coffee cup, Jane tries to step into Ortega’s field of view. “What? What thing? Julia, what are you talking about?”

“Jane. Please.”

“What?” Jane blinks, dread yawning open in her chest. She’s… she’s really doing this? _Now_? She has to do this right fucking now!? “Oh. Oh my god. You’re… you’re breaking up with me?”

“I’m sorry.”

Chest tight, throat tighter. A pain behind the eyes. “What– why? I – I know things have been a little… rough lately but we can work through this, can’t we? Julia?”

“I… I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” Ortega still won’t look at her. It’s maddening. Look at her, you coward. Look at the woman you’re breaking up with.

“Did I do something wrong? What did I mess up?” Why are you trying so hard? Isn’t this what you wanted? Ortega is interested in you, somehow. The real you. Not your puppet, not Jane. Sure, you can’t _actually_ be with Ortega but… This is… this is supposed to be good right?

So why does Jane feel like her heart is breaking?

“Jane, please. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Ortega’s voice is low, pained.

You can feel the tightness in Jane’s chest, the too-rapid breathing. “Then what? What is it? You vanish on me after dragging me along for your job, _where_ , I should remind you, _I_ saved you from getting hurt and – and suddenly you ask me out for coffee so you can dump me!?”

“Look… Jane, it’s…”

“Oh.” Jane’s voice goes cold. “I get it.” She puts the edge to Ortega. “I was right all along, wasn’t I? That _other_ woman.” Jane spits the word out like poison. Why are you doing this? There’s no need to make this into a show.

“Jane–”

“Your ‘old friend’ you insisted there was nothing going on with.”

“I was telling the truth then.” She still won’t look at you – no, at Jane.

“And now?”

“That’s why we need to… stop. I don’t want to lead you on.”

Jane stamps her foot against the ground, “Well good goddamn fucking job doing that, Julia!” Panic and tears give way to a tension all over Jane’s body, hands balling into fists. “How fucking _noble_ of you! Julia!”

She finally turns to face Jane, a pained expression on her face. “Jane, Jane please. I just– I just want to be honest about this. I hope we can still be friends.”

“Honest my ass!” Jane throws her coffee against the ground, the cup bursting open and spilling across both their shoes. “God. I–I’m so stupid. I should have known. At the Gala. How you talked. All the signs. Right there in front of my face. And… _God_ I’m so stupid.”

“Jane…”

Jane slaps Ortega’s hand away, glaring at her through wet eyes. “Don’t touch me.” Jane keeps talking and it feels like you’re just along for the ride. “Don’t talk to me ever again Julia. I don’t want to see you. I– oh fuck.” She covers her face in her hands, fighting back tears.

Don’t wait for her response, don’t look at her face. It’s all you can do to hold Jane together, march her away fast before she does something you both regret.

Julia doesn’t call after her.

Just… lets you – no lets Jane walk away.

This is… you need – Jane needs not to be alone right now. She slips a hand into her purse, roots around for her cellphone. Knows the number by heart. One, two, three, four rings. Come on woman, pick up the phone.

“Nnnyees? Who is this?” Sleepy voice. Late night?

“Doc?”

The voice perks up, “Jane? Mon amie, how are you?”

“Like S–shit.”

“Are you alright, mon amie? What happened?”

“Are you, uh – busy? Right now?”

“Right now…?” There’s a pause, some shuffling paper in the background, “Nothing that can’t wait. Do you need to come by?”

“Please.”

* * *

“Another glass.”

“Mon amie, I think you have had enough.”

“Don’t be homophobic.”

“…excuse me?”

“Fuck, Just give me the whole bottle.”

Dr. Mortum snatches the bottle away before Jane can reach for it, soft concern on her face. “Mon amie… enough.”

Jane groans, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling. Sprawled out on the chair without any pretense to dignity. “I – I can’t _fucking_ believe her.”

“Heartache is always hard, but you will get through this.” Mortum spares the briefest glance over to the bank of computer screens on the far wall. If Jane were in a better mood this would be your chance to get a sense of what she’s working on. But –

“I f–fucking blew it. We could have – have still worked it out but I… I panicked, I got so… so mad at her.”

“Are you… going to be okay?” Mortum watches Jane carefully, the bottle of wine still firmly between her hands. “With your boss?”

Jane makes a face. “With my boss?”

Eyebrows furrow together. “Weren’t you getting information on the Rangers from Charge for your Boss?”

“Oh. Oh yeah.” Jane clutches at the side of her head and screams. You can’t see Ortega as Ariadne. Not any more. She wants things from her that you can’t provide, can’t do, can’t be. It hurts like a dull knife but this is the only way to be safe. At least for now. Maybe if you can get your hands on this regenerator thing.

You’d completely forgotten Julia had promised to end things with Jane. Maybe you had hoped she wouldn’t. But of course she stuck to her word. And now she was out of your life. Both of them. “Thanks for the reminder doc! Always cheering me up!!”

“Perhaps it is time to resign?” That again…?

“It’s… not that simple.” Mortum is all you have left now. You can’t risk losing her too. The truth only ruins things.

“This… employer of yours, this man,” Dr. Mortum gestures with a free hand, “He is a danger to you. He will burn out and everyone nearby will suffer with him.”

Jane sighs, rubs at her eyes smearing mascara. “You’re plenty happy to take his money.”

Dr. Mortum winces at that. “Actually… I have been thinking about that.”

You try to push Jane’s heartache down, Jane pulls herself up, frowning. “What does that mean?”

“I… am saying…” Mortum’s words are the slow pace of something with a lot of thought being spoken aloud for the first time. “I think it is time that I… end my relationship with your employer.”

Jane’s heart freezes. “What.”

“I have… put a lot of thought into this, and it’s the best decision… for both of us.” A pained smile in Jane’s direction. “I am asking you to quit too – with me.”

“I– I can’t.” Jane’s voice is tight, her hands digging into her arms.

Mortum puts the wine bottle down on a work table and steps over to put a hand on Jane’s shoulder. “Do not mistake me for toothless, mon amie. I have been making… preparations.”

Nothing to crystalize your emotional state like cold panic. “Preparations?” Jane whispers. “Have you been sabotaging their equipment?”

“Not as such, I do have a reputation to maintain.” Dr. Mortum’s laugh is without humor. “But let us just say, if your employer thinks to come after me, he will regret it. Deeply.”

Jane avoids looking at Mortum, at the grim determination set on her face. Why is today the day where everything decides to fall apart? “Y–you’re serious.”

Dr. Mortum nods, her hand squeezes Jane’s shoulder. “I am. So, please Jane. I can protect you. I will ensure your employer does not touch you.”

“I…” Jane takes a deep breath, finally brings herself to look up at Mortum, searching her face for any hint of a bluff. Mortum is serious. Probably not lying, you think. So. So the good doctor is going to be your enemy too, now? That’s… Jane already feels like shit, you don’t even know how to parse what she / you are feeling now. But if Mortum is going to pose a threat to you, this is your chance to find out what it is.

When you’re inevitably killed, it won’t be because some self-important lab tech got the better of you.

Jane exhales, “Okay. I’m in.”

The relief on Mortum’s face is instant. “Thank you, mon amie. I promise you, we will get through this.” She lets go of Jane’s shoulder and walks over to the bank of computer monitors. “I am still putting together the last steps of my contingency plan, and I was hoping you might help me with acquiring one last item.”

Jane gets up from her seat, stiff and fuzzy-headed from the alcohol. With a little work, she crosses the room to stand next to Dr. Mortum. “What am I looking at?”

Mortum nods her head, “These are plans for The Boulevard Casino.”

She has got to be fucking kidding you.

Jane chokes. “W–why do you have these?”

Mortum smiles, “You are aware that I used to be a proper villain, yes?”

“Yes…” Jane nods, watching Dr. Mortum from the corner of her eye. “I made sure to do my research; you ran with Dr. Vitruvian, right?”

“Mm.” Mortum gestures with one hand and the screens blank, replaced with a rough sketch. “One of our inventions, the one that made me famous has turned up again.”

“…the disintegration ray? You lost it?”

Dr. Mortum tsks, “It was stolen from me. And now, some no good thief is putting it up for sale at the next auction. I am going to steal it back.”

“You’re going to steal it?”

“Yes.”

“From under Hollow Ground’s nose?”

“I did not say it was a perfect plan.”

Jane pinches the bridge of her nose, rubs her forehead. “Why not just buy it?”

“And reward the ruffian that stole it?” Mortum bristles, glaring at the bank of computer screens. “And besides, this is a one-of-a-kind tool. It will not be cheap.”

“One-of-a-kind? I thought it was just a gun?”

“Just a gun!?” Dr. Mortum glares at Jane for a moment before her expression softens into a smile. “Oh, but mon amie, it is so much more than a mere disintegration ray.” She waves a hand and the schematic changes on the screen. This one is incomplete. “This is a prototype mobile teleportation device.”

A full minute of silence passes.

“What.” Jane asks.

“It can store items as pure quantum information and reconstitute it somewhere else.”

“…anything?”

“Anything.” The pride in the doctor’s voice is palpable. “Well,” her tone drops, “there are two caveats, what with this being a prototype.” She holds up a finger, “First is we never got to finish the receiving station. So for now items are merely stored on the gun, until the next firing. And second, storing patterns like that can result in degradation from quantum flux. Fortunately it only truly makes a problem for the most delicate goods, such as with…” Mortum coughs into her fist, “with people, and other living things.”

Jane looks at Mortum, wide-eyed. Is that horror or fascination she feels? “You used it on people?”

“Only on those that insisted on getting in my way.” The smile on her face is polite and cold. Some days it’s easy to forget Dr. Mortum is an amoral criminal scientist working an illegal underground laboratory. Today isn’t one of them.

Jane shakes her head, “But I don’t understand, if that kind of thing is possible, why isn’t there tech like this everywhere by now? Why not just build a new gun?”

The smile on Mortum’s face melts. “I haven’t been able to replicate the prototype. Not yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Jane laughs, anxiety clawing up her sides. “Did you just admit to not being able to do something?”

“Don’t rub it in, mon amie.” She looks away, refusing to meet Jane’s eyes. “It was a different time of my life. And a… very particular partnership.”

“Mortum…?”

“So you see, Jane? I need to get the gun back, not just for nostalgia but so I can finish and replicate the prototype. My masterpiece work.”

Jane chews her lip, lets out a breath. “And it’s a trump card if Banshee goes after us.”

“Exactly.” Mortum waves at the screens again and they all go dark. “So, what do you think? I admit it’s been some time since I’ve been out in the field. Any advice?”

Jane puts her hands on the desk in front of her, trying to steady herself. “Honestly? I think you should just swallow your pride and buy it. It’s the safest and surest route.”

“But the gun is priceless.”

“Does anyone one else know what it does?”

There’s a pause from Dr. Mortum, a frown. “No. No one still alive, at any rate.”

“Mm, charming qualification there.” Jane arches an eyebrow. “So to everyone else there, it’s just a fancy gun. Nice, but not special.” Jane holds out a hand as Mortum bristles under the words. “I’m not saying it’s true, just what it looks like to anyone else. It might hurt your piggy bank, but you’re better off this way.”

“Perhaps you are right.” Dr. Mortum crosses her arms, head tilted in thought. “Would you join me for the auction? Two sets of eyes are always better than one.”

“Join you?” The breath catches in Jane’s throat. You can’t help Dr. Mortum as Jane and also steal the Regenerator as Banshee. The amount of body hopping that would require is way too risky. “I’m sorry,” Jane shakes her head, “I can help you with everything else. But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Mortum’s eyes narrow in understanding. “Your employer is attending.”

“Just decided today, in fact.” Jane purses her lips. “Maybe we could have them steal it for us?” Jane glances at Mortum, “I wouldn’t tell them what it really was of course.”

The doctor frowns, raps fingers against the wooden desktop. “No. No, I do not think that’s a good idea. It is too risky.”

“I’m sorry. I can help you with everything else; putting the funds together, scoping out the place ahead of time, emergency escape plans… but I don’t want to be anywhere near the place when Banshee makes their move.”

“I understand.” Mortum nods. That was too easy. Is she remembering the Gala fiasco? “Well,” the smile returns to her face, “no time but the present is there? Let us start planning.”

Jane’s laugh is shaky and broken. The emotional drain of the day taking its toll. “Let’s get to it then.”

You’ve lost Ortega. Maybe there’s a way you can play this crazy scheme so that you don’t lose Dr. Mortum. But first and foremost: Banshee is going to this auction, and by hook or by crook they are taking the regenerator.

Anything less is unacceptable.


	25. leave the cameras running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you’re going to infiltrate an illegal underground auction, it would make things simpler if you could just… walk in the front door. That’ll take money. Money and a higher profile. Ms. Ochoa wants an interview does she? She’ll get one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [5 out of 6] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3WauMPwyW5s)

## leave the cameras running

Months, if not years, of careful planning went into your debut at the Heroic Heritage Museum Gala. You’ve got maybe a month until the auction. For you to prepare to break into and steal a one-of-a-kind piece of illegal technology from under the nose of the most dangerous criminal organization in Los Diablos.

Before that you’ve got one more operation. You owe Ms. Mia Ochoa that interview after all.

“Uh-uh, no way, you crazy Janey?” Rosie puts her empty shot glass down on the counter with more force than is strictly necessary.

You were worried about this. Jane keeps her face blank, calm. “Rosie–”

“Look Jane, you’ve always been a great friend and well, the money don’t hurt none, but these jobs your spooky buddy wants done are starting to give me the creeps.”

“Rosie, come on here, at least hear me out.” Jane signals to the bartender. He nods, pouring another drink. Sliding it down into Rosie’s waiting hand. “We’re in a position to make a real difference here.”

“Thanks.” Rosie downs the shot. She looks back at Jane. “I don’t care about ‘making a difference’ Jane. I care about getting paid, and staying alive so I can spend it all again.”

“You’re not even doing anything that dangerous.”

“Uh-huh.” Rosie doesn’t smile, putting the glass down on the counter. “So you’re offering so much out of the goodness of your heart, huh?”

“Well… I–”

“Jane, I know you’re still pretty new to the scene, so lemme fill ya in on something.” Rosie leans in, close enough Jane can smell the alcohol on her breath. “People, like your ghost friend, who get those kinds of ideas in their head? They don’t last. Have you ever heard of Coyote?”

Jane frowns, scrunching up her face in confusion. “Like… The animal?”

“Right, my point exactly.” Rosie nods to herself as if that means anything.

Jane coughs, “You, uh, gonna elaborate?”

Rosie shakes her head. “Don’t take anything at face value in this city, Jane. And for God's sake, keep your head down.”

Sorry Rosie, no can do. You’ll just have to make do without her.

This doesn’t stop for anyone.

* * *

You pull down the brim of your cap as you wheel the covered cart into the service elevator. Most of your hair tucked away under the cap, face carefully painted to defeat any facial recognition AI that might go over the security footage later. Your own telepathic talents redirect any curious eyes, of which there aren’t many. No one pays a janitor any mind.

This uniform is goddamn hideous. A blue jumpsuit cliché straight out of some Atlanta blockbuster. Once you hit the 5th floor, you wheel out of there as fast as you can. The other broadcast studio on the floor is empty tonight, letting you safely roll into one of the spare changing rooms. Bar the door, tap the pair of glasses Mortum sold you and scan the room for any hidden cameras.

Sure enough, one just under the dressing room mirror. Gross. Some scraping with a nail and you grind the tiny camera to dust between your fingers. Barring the door with the cart, you step out of sight of the mirrors and pull the cloth cover off and dig through the pile of towels. Pry up the false bottom and start pulling out your pieces of armor. Relax slightly as the Rat-King wakes up to your touch on the helmet.

You don’t fully let go of the breath you’re holding until you finish suiting up.

Holy fuck, that was risky as hell. Lucky none of the detectors had a heart-rate monitor. You’d have been made on the ground floor.

Encased in your armor, you stand a chance. You dig out one last key piece of equipment, insurance, from the cart and clip it to your belt before drawing your cape closed. Your reflective faceplate a single star atop a void.

Take a moment to review the schematic in your head, stretching out your awareness to tag the disorganized chirping throughout the building. There’s Mia Ochoa, floor beneath and about a dozen paces to your north. Her own changing room possibly. She’s the only other person in this building that knows she’s not tonight’s real guest.

Assuming she hasn’t betrayed you.

But that’s what insurance is for.

It’s always the wait that’s the killer. Nothing to do but listen in while the factory-fresh late night talk host warms up the audience. You’ve looked up the guy’s name five times by now and it still hasn’t stuck. He’s interchangeable with all the rest. Black suit, red tie, hair is graying with an impossibly groomed six o’clock shadow. Same tired jokes about the conservative party’s unbroken fifty year control of the presidency.

The Rat-King has to prod you out of a half-sleep as the audience welcomes Mia Ochoa to the studio. Finally.

You don’t bother unbarring the door, instead having the Nanovores help you break down the nearest wall between you and the empty studio room. From there it’s a matter of estimating where the best place to drop through the ceiling would be.

There.

You brace down, hand on the floor. Try and steady your nerves as the ground under you begins to creak and buckle. Strike up the band, sweetheart.

With a thunderous crash the floor gives way in a hail of rotten wood and crumbling drop ceiling tiles. Screams from the audience and stage alike ring out as people dive for cover. A new surge of terror rolls out among the room as you pick yourself up. Reaching out with the Rat-King’s support you gather the panicked discord threatening to set the room into chaos and pin it down. Smooth out the edges.

You find the cameraman just off center stage. Note the light still blinking green with an anxious smile under your helmet. Don’t think about the cameras. Sure they’re the whole point but don’t think about it. Ignore every instinct in the back of your head screaming at you to smash everything and run for it.

Stepping forward between Mia and the host, you dust yourself. “Good evening, Los Diablos.”

The talk show host remains rooted in his chair, eyes wide. “Holy shit.”

You tut, “Watch your fucking language.” You tilt your helmet up, as if taking in the audience for the first time. “I’d advise everyone to keep their arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times for the duration of the ride. And–” You sigh theatrically, “For god’s sake, no flash photography.”

The talk show host stares at you, shaking his head. “...what?”

You lower your voice into a growl. “It’s a joke.”

To your other side, Ochoa is frantically flipping through notes, a recorder already in one hand. Good. She came prepared after all. You turn away from her, staring down the talk show host. Not that he can see anything save his own face. Wide-eyed and fear struck.

“Relax. Do I seem like the kind of guy to kill someone for being bad at comedy?” You pause, thinking. “Don’t answer that.”

“You – you know…” The man swallows, “Normally, if I have a stinker, I just get mean comments on the internet. People don’t usually crash through the ceiling.”

You lean an arm on his desk, “Oh…” Have to quickly pull his name out of his head, “–Henry. You all have had _such fun_ this past year, I thought it was time I’d give back. That’s all.”

“Hey it’s, it’s just the business man. No hard feelings? I’m a comedian. Not a journalist.” He holds his hands up as if that could actually defend him. Was he making fun of you? Apparently. You had no idea. Not that you can cop to such now.

You drop your voice again. “Irresponsible.”

“Excuse me – Excuse me, Banshee?”

You leave the cowering ‘comedian’ to turn back to Ochoa, now staring up at you with a furious intensity, an open notebook in one hand, her recorder in another. “Oh, we’ve got a brave one here.”

She takes a step backwards. Steels her expression. “I’ve been trying to get an interview with you for months now.”

“Have you?” You lace your voice with skepticism.

“I’d have preferred something more… private,” She grimaces, a quick glance out at the audience. “But do you mind answering a few questions?”

Huh. You figured you’d have to stall for more time hamming it up before she had the nerve to get to her interview. That’s fine. The sooner you can get out of here the safer you’ll be. You sit back on the desk, blocking the host from view of the camera.

“Alright.” You cross your arms. You reach under your cloak and pull out your insurance, hold it up clearly for the camera to see. A detonator. “And just in case anyone gets any funny ideas about interrupting us?” You click your tongue. “Bad idea.”

Ochoa eyes the grey plastic in your hand, visibly swallowing. More than she bargained for? Too bad. She doesn’t need to know it’s a bluff. “Okay… I’ll… get right into it then.”

“Please.”

“Since your debut vandalizing the Heroic Heritage Museum and besting two–”

“Three.” You correct her. “I defeated all three Rangers that night.”

“Besting _two_ of the Los Diablos Rangers,” Ochoa soldiers on. Good. She’s showing that she’ll stick to her guns. “You have terrorized Los Diablos with a spree of attacks on everything from the homes of private citizens to corporate headquarters to factories. Frankly, Banshee, what are you trying to accomplish here?”

Okay. This is it.

This is your pitch.

“This city is rotten.” You growl out. “The whole country is.” Have to be careful with what you say or the censors are going to cut the feed. A villain crashing a live recording is TV gold, a crazy person ranting about a vast government conspiracy is less so. And you’re not ready to face down the Directive just yet.

You unclench your jaw, “Los Diablos is the perfect example. The so-called shining jewel of the Free Economic Zone, and what is it really? A festering pile of corruption and greed. Who does the mayor answer to? Certainly no one in this room.” You take a quick sweep of the audience to make sure. “They see you all as tools. To use up and dispose of as they please.”

There. Maybe veered a little into crazy-uncle territory but that’s vague enough, right?

“So… what are you actually trying to do here, then?” Ochoa furrows her brow.

Fuck.

“I want justice.” You snap, slamming your fist down on the desk hard enough to make the wood splinter. You stand up again, pacing the floor. “I want them to fucking suffer. To realize the magnitude of what they’ve done. They fucking think they can do whatever they want with people…” Can feel the breath light in your chest. The Rat-King wrapping around your thoughts in a worried chitter.

“ _They_? Who is ‘they’?”

“The people responsible!” Goddamnit it’s all you can do to hold back from unleashing the whole story. “The Year of Hell isn’t over Ochoa! Not every aftershock is literal!”

Snakes in the grass slither around your ankles, their voice like sweetgrass in your ear, whispering Anathema’s last gasps.

Fuck – fucking get it under control you idiot.

“Banshee… Are you implying somebody… _caused_ the 1980 earthquakes?”

“Who knows!” You hiss, throwing your arms up in the air. Honestly, it had never occurred to you before, and now in the moment it seems so obvious. “They’re responsible for everything else! Why not that too?”

Ochoa shakes her head. She doesn’t get it. Damn her. But of course she doesn’t get it. Can’t understand. Nobody can. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Of course not.” You clench your hands into fists. “But I’m taking back control, Ochoa. I’m getting some _fucking justice_ for once in my goddamn life. I fucking promise you; I’m going to find them. Every last damn rotting log they’ve slunked under and I’m going to drag them out into the light where everybody can see. And _then_ I’m going to fucking kill them.”

That gets a spike of alarm from your captive audience.

Ochoa clears her throat. “So are the rumors true then? You intend to assassinate your political opponents?”

“No!” You slam your fist against the desk again. Wood cracks and the tv host goes diving for cover. “Somebody out there is trying to sabotage me.” You frown under your helmet. “Be assured, when the time comes for proper retribution, I won’t be doing it in the dead of night.”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I find that hard to believe. Given the violent nature of Lou Marconi’s death. And that the police have placed you at the scene of the crime.”

“You actually trust them?”

Is that you laughing?

“Who benefits, Ochoa? Who do the police serve? Or the Rangers for that matter? Not you! Not these people here!” You take in the audience with a sweep of your hand. “Dangerous secrets are being hidden from all of you. I’m just evening the scales.”

“So… what?” Ochoa shakes her head. Can feel the undercurrent of fear under her cool demeanor. “You fancy yourself some kind of hero? A vigilante?”

“Hero?” Almost recoil from the word. Control. You have control. Don’t. Lose it. “I’m done playing by the rules. You don’t try to beat the house head-on. That’s a sucker’s game.” Your voice raises in volume again, boosted by the vocal distortion from a frightened rasp to a commanding rumble. “I’m done playing games, Ochoa. I’m no ghost, no empty cry in the night. This is rebellion. I’m no one’s master but my own.”

“But to what end?” Ochoa presses, hand still firm around her recorder. “People are terrified across the city about the possibility of being caught up in your next attack. Hell,” Ochoa takes in the audience with a sweep of her free hand. “People are terrified right now in this room.”

“That’s regrettable but unavoidable.”

“But what on earth gives you the _right_?”

“The right!? What gives me the _fucking right!?_ ” Your laugh is hollow. Kick over a chair, use it as a step to get on top of the desk. You hold out the detonator. “I won’t play the victim anymore! Are you fucking listening out there? I know you are!” It feels like every nerve in your body is buzzing. The Rat-King a faint, concerned presence at the back of your mind.

You thrust your fist into the air, holding the detonator aloft. Some part of you faintly aware you’ve completely lost the plot. But it’s like you’re watching yourself from outside, unable to stop. To pull back.

You can’t.

No one stops.

“I am Adrestia!” You scream it at the top of your lungs, blowing out the speakers in your helmet. “The inescapable! And I’m fucking coming for you!”

Can feel everyone holding their breaths. Unable to move, pinned by a telepathic song. Whimpers of fear escaping out the sides of mouths like air bubbles under water.

This is–

Control.

You. Are. In. Control.

With a twist of your hand you crumple the plastic and toss it on the ground. “You aren’t my enemy–” The doors in the back of the auditorium slam open. “–they are.”

“Banshee!” The voice makes your stomach lurch. That’s not one of the dozen tactical response officers you detected outside the studio. “Surrender yourself and come with me. You’re under arrest.”

As she steps out of the hall light, you can clearly make out Julia ‘Charge’ Ortega. Her Ranger skinsuit a brilliant electric blue, white sparks of static electricity crawling up her arms. She stares you dead in the face, as if she can somehow lock eyes with you under the mask. An expression of grim determination.

Well.

Shit.


	26. i won't go quietly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why can’t Ortega just give up and retire?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Bury Me Face Down] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLbqnmvLPKE)

##  I won’t go quietly

You brace yourself, dropping into a combat stance. “My name…” You left hand ducks under your cloak, “is Adrestia!” With a flick of your hand, you toss the smoke grenade and flash bang into the middle of the crowd.

Your helmet polarization is already up when the burst of light and sound cracks through the room. People scream, scrambling out of their seats, your spell over them broken. Smoke floods the studio, people wheeze, their eyes watering.

You jump backwards, off the desk, telepathically nudging Ochoa and the talk host to get off the stage and into cover. Charge is barreling through the crowd, unperturbed by the smoke or flashbang.

You aren’t fighting her. Not again. There’s – there’s no reason for it.

No time to find the back door, so you put your gauntlet to the wall. Just as the static buzz of Charge’s mind has reached the stage you bring your fist down hard, breaking through the weakened structure.

“What’s the matter ‘Adrestia?’ Don’t like it when someone drops in on _your_ show?” Charge’s voice calls out after you, cocky. Trying to get you off your guard. Ignore it. Ignore her. Wood splinters behind you as she follows through the hole in the wall.

You’re racing down a narrow hallway. LDPD officers are already moving to intercept your position. With the Rat-King bracing you against the chaos spreading through the building like wildfire, you reach out and snag the police in a song. The first two men you come across are in a daze. Don’t realize you’re in front of them until it’s too late. Drop the first, throw the second into a third behind him. Push on through. Central hallway with the elevator straight ahead. You can zip down that way.

Is it just Charge here or can you expect more of the Rangers to show up? Had been expecting Lady Argent if anyone. Would you win a rematch against the whole team? It’s not certain. You no longer have the benefit of being an unknown quantity.

Sliding into the larger hallway, there’s the other half of the response team waiting at the end, blocking the elevator. Fuck. Guns pointed.

Charge emerges out of the side passage you just came out of, breathing hard. “You talk a big game about inescapable justice for someone who runs from a fight.”

“Don’t be stupid.” You hiss back, shifting focus between her and the police. “A fight in there would have endangered everyone in that room.”

“Oh, so _now_ you care about not hurting innocent people?”

“The detonator was never real. What kind of monster do you take me for?”

Charge narrows her eyes, keeping her distance from you, her guard up. “The kind that needs serious professional help. This has gone on long enough, Banshee–”

“Adrestia!” You snap. “And you lot!” You jap a finger at the police, staring down their gun barrels at you. “You’ll fucking s–stand down if you know what’s good for you.” If they fire now, they’ll get you and Charge both.

She glances down the hall, holds out a hand. “It’s okay guys. I’ve got this handled.”

Can pick up a few worried notes. Glances towards their commanding officer. Finally the order goes out and they lower their weapons. You breathe a sigh of relief.

Charge flashes a grin your way. “Now you, hands in the air and get down on the ground.”

You shake your head, raising your fists. “You didn’t really think it would be that easy?”

“No,” She admits with a shrug, “but I had to try.”

You twist out of the way of her lunge, fists crackling lighting. A stray spark catches you across the chest running down the suit and through the grounding wires. “We – we don’t have to do this.”

Charge arcs an eyebrow at you as she comes around. Another exploratory punch you duck out of the way of. “I don’t know… I’ve been thinking about this rematch half a year now.”

You keep your guard up, weaving out of the way of her attacks. “That was… it was a mistake. You’re not my enemy.”

“You were pretty clear I was, back there.” She kicks and you move with the blow, rolling away.

“That was – them!” You risk flinging an arm towards the troopers still watching from the end of the hallway. You brace yourself for the blow that should punish leaving yourself open like that but it doesn’t come.

Charge lets you get back to your feet. No cocky grin on her face. Only… confusion? Worry? Why? “If you aren’t going to fight, then surrender.”

“I – no!” You clench your hand. You’re not shaking. You’re not weak. You are in control. “I’m not going back!”

“Back?” Charge looks at you, lost. “Back where? Prison? Maybe you should have thought of that before holding 50 people hostage on live television!”

“I’ll die first.” Can feel the Rat-King press up against you, urging you to breathe normally. Can’t – can’t pass out here. Not now.

“Nobody’s dying on my watch.”

“Liar!” With a scream you sucker pucker Charge in the face, sending her backwards. Swear your heart stops as her head cracks against the floor.

Fuck!

Why did you–?

The racking of guns echoing down the hallway gets your attention. Only a split second before they open fire, and the world slows down around you, intimately aware of every little movement and thought. Reaching in you snare the closest three officers in a mesh of red thread. Mental strings pulling at their thoughts – until their minds collapse under the strain. Guns clatter out of their hands as they fall to the floor.

Before the others can react, you ensnare a fourth in a song and twist her hands violently to the left smacking her compatriot in the face. The rest follow suit like dominos until they’re all scrabbling for dropped weapons. Discipline lost to blind panic. They don’t even realize you’re among them until you’ve taken down two more with strikes to the neck.

“Ghost – Adrestia!” Charge’s voice echoes through the hallway. “Stand down!”

Look up and there’s Charge running straight towards you, blood running down from her nose. You smack your left gauntlet against the elevator doors. The metal crumbles to dust just as she reaches you. Shoving one of the troopers at Charge, you jump into the elevator shaft, grabbing the cable as you slide down.

Above you someone yells to stop, and then the crack of gun echoes up and down the shaft.

Shit!

Glancing up, one of the officers is perched at the edge of the floor, sighting down their rifle. Someone reaches from behind, trying to pull them back just as they pull the trigger. Pain blossoms through your left shoulder and you instinctively let go of the cable.

Someone screams.

The ground hits all at once, a punch that forces the air out of your lungs. A dozen different alarms go off on your HUD. Is this it? Are you dead? Crippled? Pain floods through your body, mixed with a surge of relief as you realize you can still move your arms and legs.

A hand grabs something sharp and metal and you pull yourself to your feet. Ignore every nerve screaming at you to do otherwise. You didn’t fall that far. Check your shoulder – the ablative plate is cracked in two, but underneath looks to be okay. Going to be one hell of a bruise.

You don’t have a lot of time. They’re going to be on you in seconds. Fuck.

Put your hand to the elevator door, watch the metal rot and crumble under the Nanovores before pulling it away. Step through and immediately recognize that you’re in the basement. Same slightly cool, damp air and unfinished walls universal to all basements everywhere.

Okay.

Okay. This is good.

You can lose them in the tunnels again.

This building isn’t directly connected to the sewer maintenance tunnels, but it’s close enough. Just… need to find an outside wall.

You grit your teeth as you hug the closest shelf. Try to place yourself on the mental map. Tap your low-light vision on and off you go, through the maze of storage rooms and abandoned props.

Fuck. Why did it have to be Ortega of all people today? It’s not like you aren’t perfectly aware she’s been fixing for a re-match but… And then again for someone who’s made bringing you down her number one priority she sure went easy on you. What is going on?

On the floor above, you make a note of the recovering LDPD officers spreading out, blocking the main exits. No one makes a move for the basement. They must be leaving it up to Ortega.

Great.

Footsteps. Echoing in the distance. Flash of white.

All you can do to stay standing. Grab the wall, knocking over an empty can of paint from a shelf. Fucking – no! You’re not Ariadne. You’re not weak. Not some helpless victim. You Are In Control.

“Adrestia!”

– That’s right. You’re Adrestia. You’re vengeance personified.

“You’ve got nowhere to go down here, Adrestia.”

Charge’s voice echoes off the walls. She must be amplifying her voice somehow.

“We – we don’t have to be enemies!” You shout back. Don’t stop moving. Keep searching for that outer wall. “They’re using you too!”

“Who the hell is ‘they?’” She’s trying to keep you talking. Make it easier to find you. Bring you in. You shouldn’t fall for it.

“The government, you idiot!” You yell. “You really think they give a damn about you? You’re just a circus that d–doubles as law enforcement.”

“So what’s the alternative then? Seems to me like you’re still playing their game.”

“No!” You punch a nearby box through the gloom. “I’m throwing out the rules!”

“You just gave a classic unhinged supervillain rant on broadcast TV, Adrestia. That’s _pretty_ damn textbook, niña.”

“You don’t need to believe me! Just – just don’t get in my fucking way!”

“You seem to know me pretty well… So you should understand why I can’t do that.”

“For – Jesus, for once in your goddamn life Ortega, just give up!”

A light cuts the path in front of you. Fuck. Charge turns the corner, readying her fists as soon as she sees you. Flashlight clipped to the collar of her skinsuit. “You first.”

“I… I can’t.” You’re not that far from your exit point. You can lose her in the sewer, just like you always lose Argent. “I d–don’t want to hurt you.”

Charge tilts her head, not dropping her guard. “Who’s making you do this, Adrestia? Is it Hollow Ground?”

You blink. “W–what?”

“What does she get out of this? Is running the crime scene not enough? Now’s she thinking of going into politics or something?

You clench your hands. “N–no one is... Making. Me. Do. This.” All this time and Ortega is still fixated on tying everything back to Hollow Ground. Has she even listened to anything you said? Even for a second stopped to consider you might be right?

“There’s no one else here but you and me, Adrestia. You don’t need to keep putting up a front. Talk to me. We can work through this.”

“We can’t.” Your voice cracks, the distortion scrambling the higher pitch. “You’re not – not _listening_ to me.” Can feel the Rat-King curl around you, chirping a tune in imitation of your own mind, trying to calm you down. Hold you together. “Y–you’re on… the wrong side. Ortega.”

“I’m not the one putting people’s lives in danger.”

“Then open your fucking eyes!” You grab a wrench off the shelf and toss it straight at her head. She dives to the floor giving you time to drop another smoke grenade. Your suit switches to internal air to block out the worst of the irritant and you make a break for it. Can hear Ortega coughing and wheezing behind you. Caught with her face right in ground zero of the smoke.

When you hit the exit point you slam your left gauntlet against the wall, urging the Nanovores to work as quickly as they possibly can. The cement blocks crumble under your touch and you punch the rest of the way through. Can feel the pain in your knuckles. That’s going to leave a mark, shit.

Once you step through you linger by the hole just long enough to have the Nanovores collapse the ceiling behind you. By the time Ortega can dig through the rubble you’ll be long gone.

You don’t get far down the tunnel when the shock starts to let up, adrenaline draining out of you. Stumbling and catching yourself against the brickwork, your helmet scrapes the curve of the ceiling. Ragged breaths gulping down air, legs shaking.

God fucking damnit Ariadne.

She’s your enemy. There’s not going to be some miracle moment of understanding. Ortega has devoted her entire life to Rangers. Your hand scrapes the wall as you sink down to your knees.

Fuck.

This better be worth it.


	27. wicked temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This has gone on long enough.
> 
> Tw: emetophobia;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Tear Me To Pieces] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c92Isg49BOo)

#  [You've Been Falling For So Long](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7mZdgjEHC91svXQDrQuCvv?si=kQsxW0RaRAif0dNOUSbkdA)

## wicked temptation

By the time you get back to your workshop, twilight hours are in full effect. Marcie is gone for the day, thank god. You’ll check the logs later. Not in the mood to play shopkeep right now.

Peeling off your armor you leave it on the floor as you collapse onto the corner bunk. Keep flirting with the idea of moving in here properly. Every time you back down from it. Keeping a separation between your personal life and villain career still seems prudent.

Every bone and muscle in your body throbs. Hands like stiff clubs at the end of your arms. Your left shoulder radiating pain. All things considered, you got off pretty light for facing down Charge in her full equipment.

She was holding back.

So were you.

Does… does she know? If she knew, she’d force a conversation, right? Ortega’s never been one to beat around the bush. But she’s… She’s always asking your opinion. On Banshee’s – on Adrestia’s actions. Talking about how ‘it’s personal’ but never explaining why.

Cold sweat soaks your clothes.

You feel sick.

With a groan, you turn over on the mattress and flop a hand down, searching under the frame for your laptop – as a general rule you don’t risk keeping anything sensitive in digital. The thing is a cheap piece of junk anyway. But you don’t need something state of the art to serve as a netbook. Get a sense of the media spin.

This is the first time that you’ve purposefully crashed something with cameras. With the Gala you knew it was part and parcel of building your reputation but in the moment you had tried your best not to think about it. But now here… here it was the whole point wasn’t it? Maybe you should have given Ochoa the private interview like she wanted.

It doesn’t take much effort to find the clip streaming online. ‘Surprise Guest on Last Night with Henry Harriet!’ Adrestia looks so out of place, standing between a middle-aged man in a suit, and Mia Ochoa’s intense glare. A light coating of cement dust on Adrestia’s shoulders gives a faint sense of shape to an otherwise featureless void.

Closing your eyes you hit ‘play.’ Did they censor you at all? Cut your speech any? You try to remember what you had said. It’s already fading into fuzzy memory. Watching the playback now… can feel your heart sink.

Adrestia paces back and forth on the stage, gesturing wildly for emphasis. Their body language is frantic and radiating anxiety. The words coming out of their mouth aren’t much better.

Adrestia sounds like a crazy person.

But it’s…

If you had gone into any actual detail, the broadcast would have been cut, and a re-gene squad deployed to take you out – probably everyone in that building too, for good measure. The Special Directive doesn’t fuck around when someone is dumb enough to directly threaten them.

The burner phone you left on the desk before starting the mission today starts buzzing. You look up, almost knocking the laptop off its perch on your stomach.

The phone keeps buzzing.

What if it’s…?

No, don’t be absurd.

You shift the laptop off you and lean over, stretch out to grab the phone, draw it into your grip and pull back to the bed with your prize. Check the number to see who it is.

Oh. It’s Ortega.

Of course it would be.

> Sparkles: Hey Ari
> 
> Sparkles: You awake?

Ugh. Did you really rename her contact ‘Sparkles?’ When was that? What fit of madness were you on? You should… you should change back – no, better – delete her contact information entirely and toss the phone into the sea.

Dropping the phone, you roll over on the mattress. This… this fantasy of yours has gone on too long. It’s affecting your judgement. Exposing you to completely unnecessary risk. You curl up, pressing the palms against your eyes. As if you could push the tears back in.

How the hell did you get yourself into the situation?

For the longest time all you wanted could be boiled down to two things: Revenge, and dying. Preferably in that order, but you weren’t picky. But now all this time for Ortega and – and this is terrible. Right? It’s wrong. Feeling this way. This is… this is Dr. Finch’s fault. For trying to encourage you, for letting you think you could ever be ‘fixed.’

But some things you can never make good.

This is… it’s just a crush. A stupid dumb crush. Some decade old candle burnt to nothing. A thousand volt live wire that’ll kill you both if you don’t drop it now. Nobody just… ‘decides’ they like you. You’re rude and abrasive – it has to be frustrating as hell listening to you struggle through sentences at times and frankly nothing to write home about in the looks department. Nothing like the men Ortega has dated – nothing like Jane, your mirror.

Scarred and broken and hollowed out. She has to want something out of it right? Something you can’t give. Ortega’s always been… such a physical person. Very… hands-on.

The… the regenerator won’t fix that, will it?

Fixing your body would go a long way, for sure. And the Regenerator is still a priority for that alone. But… your damage goes deeper than that. It can’t reach into your brain and undo everything that happened. You’ll have another panic attack. There will be questions. Questions you aren’t ready to answer. Can’t imagine ever answering.

And you…

No.

It’s better this way. A clean break. No Ortega. No Herald, Or Chen, or any contact with the Rangers going forward. There is no Ariadne. Just Jane and Adrestia. You need to focus on Dr. Mortum. On getting her back on your side, or failing that, taking her out before she can move against you.

The Auction is coming up fast.

Better get ready.


	28. how am i gonna do this?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you’re going to cross the most powerful crime syndicate in Los Diablos, you better know what you’re doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Good Luck, Kid] ](https://youtu.be/pABTFWl25OQ)
> 
> [ [already seen, always again] ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21032267)

##  how am i gonna do this?

Watch the wheel spin, but keep your money to yourself. Jane is a spectator only. Silent observer, holding old, old habits you can draw tight around her like a shawl. Observer, never observed, look but don’t touch. This is Hollow Ground turf, the ritzy casino halls are the mushroom cap signaling the fairy circle of decay out of sight underneath.

Just stand in the crowd. One manicured hand holds a glass to Jane’s lips as she watches the spinning roulette wheel. There’s something there, old and familiar, already seen, always again. “Thirty-four.” Jane mouths, unbidden. Seconds later a wheel slows, the ball falls, rocks up the middle back down. Number 34. One man cheers, others grumble.

What does it mean? It had been easy, before, to attribute any sense of déjà vu to an artifact of inhabiting Jane’s body for hours at a time. Passing feelings easily forgotten afterwards, save for the lingering sense of unease. But now, in this casino mesmerized by the spinning of the wheel…

“Twenty-five,” Jane whispers, under her breath. Seconds later the white ball slots into place: number 25. A frown etches on Jane’s face. You don’t like this one bit. Now that you’ve given up using possession, Jane is your only option for undercover work. The idea this body is… hiding some trick or talent…?

Jane was supposed to be the perfect nobody. No friends, no family. Probably a comatose drug user picked up off the street. Maybe an unfortunate car accident victim. Would have been broken down for parts if you hadn’t intervened.

Whatever this is that Jane can do, it’s not the talent of a nobody.

Jane turns away from the roulette table and scans the hall. Ostentatious gold filigree, tropical plants, one wall is a massive fish tank with a coral reef in miniature… You’re getting distracted.

You can investigate Jane’s strange ‘talent’ on your own time. Today is for scoping out the Casino. You need to know exactly what you’ll be up against when Adrestia makes her move. You would prefer not to experience Hollow Ground’s hospitality to would-be thieves first hand.

Navigating past the procession of slot machines, Jane scans the crowd. Make a mental map of exits, staff areas, potential obstacles, any point of interest that can be turned for or against you.

Jane comes to a stop, putting a hand on the side of a slot machine to steady herself. Her legs have gone weak and sweat soaks her bra under the dress. She puts her free hand to her forehead, eyes squeezed shut tight as you try to get a grip.

What on earth is happening to Jane? She’s never reacted like this before. Not even when her life was in danger. You force Jane to open her eyes again and scan the room. Are you under attack? Did someone hit Jane with some kind of poison gas? A dart? Some sort of sonic weapon?

Jane’s heart freezes in her chest as her eyes catch the figure on the far side of the room. A woman, frighteningly thin. A long white gown runs from her shoulders to the floor, draping sleeves hide her hands and a veil covers her face. A thick fur coat wrapped around her the color of over-ripe apples or maybe dried blood.

Now that you see her, Jane can’t look away.

The skeleton-woman isn’t alone. There’s a small old man standing beside her in the corner. Ashen gray suit, holding a small tray of very fancy looking cucumber sandwiches. The two are talking? Arguing? Jane can only see the old man’s face and not very well at this distance.

The longer she stands there, the worse it feels. Vision blurring, chest and throat tight. Are you– is Jane having a panic attack? Usually when you have attacks it feels like you’re drowning in yourself, falling over an event horizon, or watching the last vestiges of the outside world shift to red and turn dark.

This is nothing like that. Or rather it is but inverted. Floating on top in Jane’s head while below you something collapses into itself. If anything, it feels worse thanks to the alienation from your – from Jane’s body.

But there’s only you in here, no one else, you’ve looked! You’ve looked so hard. So often. Just to make sure. So… who is collapsing?

Who is this skeleton-woman? You need to get a closer look. Understand what’s happening.

Jane’s body moves stiffly, as if she’s fighting you. An unsettling feeling all it’s own independent of all the others.

The woman’s voice becomes distinct against the buzz of the crowd as Jane tries to surreptitiously wander closer. It’s a sound like nails on chalkboard, raising the hair at the nape of Jane’s neck. Or like nails digging into skin, wrapped tight around the throat pinching out air, all life. And there’s that feeling from the roulette table, already seen, always again.

The skeleton-woman looks up, dismissing her companion with a wave of her hand. And she sees Jane. Sees you. Standing there not ten feet away, leaning on a slot machine for support. You need to move. Jane won’t move. Won’t look away.

The woman raises an arm, long sleeve falling back to show the silk-white glove stretching up. “I don’t believe it.” She tilts her head in naked fascination, her other hand gently tugging at the edge of her glove.

For a brief moment the dread melts away and Jane leans forward, a snarl forming on her lips. “You’d _better_ believe it.”

The woman is pulling at her glove, exposing skin. “How is this possible?” Her voice is soft and bewildered – ice-cold and hackle-raising.

Her companion, the old man reaches up to pull at her arm, gentle. “Not here, Mistress.”

The woman hisses. “I know, fool.” She tries to shrug him off but the hand stays affixed to her arm.

An unbidden smile unfolds on Jane’s face, flashing teeth as she crosses her arms. “So long, _Sucker_.” Jane turns to walk away, raising a hand behind her with only the middle finger extended.

One step, two, three, four, back into the crowd. The throng of people, criminals and elderly, fleecers and dreamers. Something gives out inside Jane and you almost collapse to the floor. It’s just you again. Just Jane. Lightheaded and panicking, soaking in a cold sweat. It takes an act of will to pull Jane together, to force one foot in front of the other.

You’ll have to finish your preparations through other means.

You’re keeping Jane far, far away from this place, and that woman for the foreseeable future.

* * *

“Mon amie?”

Jane slides into the booth, hands still shaking. “H–here.” Where’s her purse? There. Right there. On. On her shoulder. Of course. Where else would it be?

“Mon amie? Dear?” Dr. Mortum presses again, concerned eyes watching from across the table. She’s even out down her drink. Oh, Jane’s got her scared now.

“I… I had a run-in. Today. Still… a little shook up.” Jane’s throat is dry. God, where’s that server? She’s going to get fucking drunk as shit tonight.

“I can see that.” Mortum’s tone is controlled. Too even. “Are you okay…?”

“I’m… alive? I think.” There! There’s the damn map. Jane pulls it out of her purse and slams the folded up piece of paper on the table. “Here. Copied down. Best I could get.”

Dr. Mortum takes the map as Jane pushes it across the table to her. A quick glance before folding it back up and tucking it into her breast pocket. “Thank you mon amie, I appreciate whatever edge I can get, but now I _have to insist_. What happened?”

“Met uh, a lady.” Jane grimaces. Puts her elbow on the table to hold herself up. “Real strange. All white, except like… this red coat thing? Super thin. And… super spooky.

“And…?”

“And that’s it. We – we talked. Real brief. But…” Jane shakes her head. “Something was… everything was off. I’ve… I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite like how I did around her. I don’t know if it was like… some kind of sonic attack, or pheromones or telepathy or god knows what.”

A hand touches Jane’s, giving her a start. Frightened glance upward finds Dr. Mortum’s eyes. Brows knit together in concern. “We know the casino has dampeners, so I doubt it was telepathic. The other options are possible, though, that’s true. And… concerning.”

Jane nods, pulling her hand back. “Steer wide away from any spooky skeleton women. That’s some free advice from uh, from your favorite fixer.”

When the server finally comes it’s a relief. Jane orders a whole bottle for both of them. Downs the first glass maybe a little too eagerly. “I know it… probably has to wait until after the big to-do, but…”

Mortum nods in understanding. “I will see what my contacts can dig up. If this woman had such an effect on you, she is clearly not one to be underestimated.”

“That’s for sure.” Jane pours herself another glass. “Are… you going to be okay? Doing all this on your own?”

“Mon amie, I _was_ a proper villain in my own right once, remember?” Dr. Mortum’s smile is cool and self-assured. Maybe too much so. Like she’s masking something. “I know well enough how the game is played. And, after all, I will be following your advice.”

Jane perks up at that. “So you really are just going to buy the damn thing than?”

One less variable for you to worry about. Good.

The doctor nods, electric lights reflecting off her orange tinted glasses. “Those delightful… men, you put me in touch with. I was able to liquidate a few old projects. I should have the cash.”

“That’s good.” Jane stares down at the table, taking a deep breath. Hands finally no longer shaking. Can feel some color return to her face. “Just… be careful okay? Adrestia will be there and… they’ve been getting weirder.”

“I saw.” Mortum made a face. “We are picking a good time to jump ship, I think.”

“I… yeah.” Jane’s voice gets quiet, and she can’t quite bring her head up to look her companion in the face. “I… I really appreciate this. You know. What you’re doing. You could probably just, you know… end your working relationship and be just fine.”

Why _is_ Mortum sticking her neck out for Jane like this? You don’t get it. What does this even count as – what you’re doing? A triple-cross?

“I’ve been in your shoes, mon amie. I had to get through it alone.” Dr. Mortum’s smile is gentle.

Right up until it isn’t. “You do not have to.”


	29. hollow heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Showtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Venger] ](https://youtu.be/-B7-Vcdlld8)
> 
> [ [the glass labyrinth] ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072074/chapters/50129945)

##  hollow heart

“Easy.” You hold up your arms, wiggle your fingers. “No tricks.”

The guards eye you. It doesn’t take much effort to smooth over their suspicion. To watch the glares melt into faint smiles. Suckers. Can already feel the faint pressure of the Casino’s dampeners, but out here you can still pull a few moves.

As you get closer, a flick of your hand presents the DS chip you used to consolidate Pennybag and Dreadnought’s stolen cryptocurrency. Proof you’ve got money to spend. No cheapskates in Hollow Ground’s domain. This particular chip you’ve topped off after picking apart a few low-tier criminal marks. One of the guards gives it a scan and nods when you pass whatever the limit is.

A few more steps and… you are in.

Walking into the casino instantly recalls your last visit, riding Jane’s body. Can feel your skin crawl at the memory of it. The inexplicable fear.

“Excuse me?”

You turn on your heel. Look down. A woman in a sharp-tailored suit has her eyes on you, hands folded in front of her. The nametag pinned to her front gives her away as staff. “You’re… Bansh– no, Adrestia, right?”

You nod.

“Is this your first time with us?”

You nod again.

“Excellent.” She claps her hands together, in a too smoothly practiced pantomime of congeniality. “Here to try your luck or do you have a specific purpose in mind for today’s visit?”

Hrm. Do _all_ visitors get a visit from – you glance at her nametag – from Iris? “Auction.” You offer. Cough, correct yourself. “The auction. Being held soon?”

“That is correct.” Her smile is polite enough. Like warmed-over ice cubes. “My name is Iris and I’ll be your escort today. Should you need one. It’s a service we provide to all our first-time visitors.”

Yeah, you’re not sure about that.

The thought makes you nervous. But – but why should it? You wanted to be noticed, didn’t you? To be heard? They’re still talking about that interview. Sure, if you had actually fought Ortega properly, it might have been a better story for you but… well. People are talking. It got you into here. What more do you want?

You tilt your helmet, trying to sound as non-confrontational as the distortors will allow. “Don’t need an escort, thank you.”

“Of course, Adrestia.” Iris bows, a deep bend at the waist. “You’ll find the auction hall through the double doors over there. And if you wish to view the items before bidding, you’ll find them in the annex, there.” She gestures across the open hall with her hands. Pointing first to the large double doors, and then to the smaller room next to it.

“Th–thanks.”

“Of course.” She smiles, bows again, “Have a pleasant evening.”

Well. That wasn’t too terrible a start.

Take a breath.

Hold it.

Exhale.

You are not Ariadne Becker.

Not here.

Not now.

You are Adrestia, your suit is the color of an empty void reflecting no light, your cape drawn tight around your shoulders further obscures your form. Only the mirrored treatment of your helmet betrays you as still human. Still needing to see, still needing to be seen.

Without really you thinking about it, you find yourself wandering to the annex. It – it makes sense to do. This whole night is for nothing otherwise. Might as well ensure the prize is actually here. Your primary goal is to secure the regenerator. If it really does what it’s supposed to… well. That’s a whole lot of breathing room. There it is, behind glass, under the watchful eye.

So close. It looks like there’s two parts to contend with. A central core housing the experimental technology and on a pedestal beside in a too-plain looking briefcase. The schematics to assemble the rest of the unit.

What will the finished product look like? Baptismal font or casket?

“Adrestia. Imagine; meeting you here.”

You turn and there’s a moment of disorientation. Since when are you as tall as Dr. Mortum? – You aren’t Jane. Mortum’s expression is cold but polite. You have to assume she knows that you know about her attempts to get Jane to quit. Her plans to do the same. What’s her play here?

You give a slight bow, and mimic the cold courtesy in her voice. “Dr. Mortum.”

“It occurs to me that this is the first we have met in person.”

You spread your arms wide, twirling your fingers. “And now we have. Am I everything you hoped for, doctor?”

There’s a brief flash of annoyance and then Mortum regains control of her poker face. “You have been taking good care of the armor, I see.”

“You did good work.”

“I… you are welcome?” She hadn’t expected that.

Maybe you can still salvage this. Get her back on your side. You let your arms drop to your sides. “Look, I’m… sorry.”

“Sorry?” The confusion is plain in her voice. “For what?”

“I…” You laugh, then cut yourself off with a wince. The voice filter warps everything. “I th–think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Dr. Mortum’s expression hardens, her eyes narrowing. “If you have hurt her–”

“Her? Oh.” Shit. This might have backfired. “Doctor, I would never hurt her.”

Does she believe you? You wouldn’t, coming from someone that looks and sounds like you do. This was a mistake. Reaching out is always a mistake. When will you learn?

“So you say,” Dr Mortum confirms your fear. “Now if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to.” She turns away from you, slips past the other gawkers come to check out the auction items ahead of time. You move to follow after her but the crowd doesn’t exactly leap out of your way.

Suppose you haven’t really been making friends either within Los Diablos’s self-proclaimed ‘villain’ community. Most of the looks of recognition you’re getting are… not happy ones. Calculating. Displeased. Guess word is getting around. Well, whatever.

Just because you’re all on the wrong side of law now… it doesn’t make you allies. You wonder, how many of these goons remember Sidestep? You’d swear you recognize a few faces, a few suits. Is that Sharkinator at the bar? You’d recognize the sharkhands anywhere. There’s a blast from the past. When did he get out of Prison?

Are you imagining the eyes burning a hole in the back of your head or are you really being watched? The Boulevard Casino is coated in the hum of telepathic dampeners, the hissing static pressing down on you. If it wasn’t for the physical proximity of the Rat-King, slipping it’s telepathic presence between you and the hum like a shield you’d already be clutching your head in a migraine by now.

Would sneaking in have been better? There’s no point wondering now. You don’t need to worry about evading cameras and security this way. Dampeners, radio jammers, cameras, good old fashioned armed men in fancy suits. Hollow Ground’s security is not messing around.

That’s fine, neither are you.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve. Showing yourself.”

You blink, glancing around. Who? Look down. A short man with a ruddy complexion is glaring up at you, one hand grabbing the edge of his black suit coat.

“Do I know you…?”

Oh. Dreadnaught. He could still afford to get in? Must have recovered from your robbery.

The fury on his face doesn’t abate. “You know who I am. Banshee.”

“Adrestia.”

“You’re a joke.”

“That’s nice. Who are you again?” You glance up, around at the crowd. Who’s watching? Is this going to be trouble? Dreadnaught is a boost. Strength and durability enough to go up against someone like Psychopathor. Even if he’d rather play businessman.

Could be trouble.

His nostrils flare as he tries to puff himself up. Is he going to start something? Test how enforced Hollow Ground’s neutral zone is? Hrm. better him than you. “Don’t pretend to be an idiot.” He hisses.

“Don’t pretend to be important.” You shrug. Staring him down.

“I…” You see it his face, the moment he buckles. He’s not going to start anything.

“Some free advice? Since you need it.” You note the renewed fury in his face. “Get out now. While you can.”

He clenches his hands. Grinding his teeth. “I’ll remember this. _Adrestia_.”

“That’s nice. I won’t.” You brush past him, walking away. Dreadnaught doesn’t follow. Watches you get swallowed into the crowd.

Holy shit. Did you really just do that? Can feel the sweat dripping down the back of your neck.

There’s a pressure on your attention, an urging from the Rat-King. You let it turn you, guide your sight. A woman moving through the crowd, tall. Taller still by the antlers spiraling up from a helmet in the shape of an antelope skull. She’s armored, covered from head to foot. Brown faux-leather, almost certainly masking proper armor underneath by the bulk of the thing. Gloved hands hide her skin. Her boots are made up to look like cloven hooves that add to her stature.

Not exactly a practical outfit.

Why is the Rat-King pushing you towards her? The dampeners prevent that. Wait, is that.. Oryx? Small time hitman. Or… hitwoman, you suppose. Was supposed to have fled town a while ago after a job turned bad.

Can’t say you were sorry to see her go. Not that you had anything to do with that. You don’t have the time in the day to personally meddle in everyone’s illegal business. Guess the rumors were wrong.

Something… isn’t right with her though. Her movement is… too smooth? Or not smooth enough. Like she doesn’t belong here. Is she going to be trouble? You need this to go off perfectly, you can’t afford any potential complications.

It’s not hard to pick out her path. She’s sticking to the walls, you could intercept her, pull her into an empty side-room before she reaches the auction hall.

No one even bats an eye as you step out from behind the curtain and grab Oryx by the shoulders, pull her backwards into the room. She grunts, elbows you in the stomach to get free and drops into a combat stance as you step backwards.

You raise your arms, try to control your heart rate. That snarl, the way she balances herself, positions her arms. Jesus christ, it’s Argent behind that mask isn’t it? Just your fucking luck. If she has any sanity she won’t risk a fight here. Not under Hollow Ground’s nose. “I d–don’t want a fight.”

“Funny way of showing it.”

“It’s – it’s easier to, uh, to talk in private, wouldn’t you say…” You incline your head, exaggerating to make the gesture visible through your helmet, “Argent?” Fuck, you need to get it under the control. Adrestia can’t stutter.

There’s silence, and then Argent crosses her arms with a small laugh. “You’re always the worst.”

You put your arms down, “I’d say the same about you.”

“Well? What do you want?”

“I hope you’re not here for my sake.” What on earth is Argent doing here? Are the Rangers involved? They’re hardly at full strength, would they seriously try to bust something this big? It would be a disaster.

“What is this? Fishing for compliments?” She leans in, “You aren’t nearly that important.”

You put a hand to your chest and laugh, “You wound me.”

“Easy to do.”

You elect to ignore that, “You’re hardly the type for fancy parties. Though…” You tap the chin of your helmet, “I suppose you are better d–dressed this time?”

“Excuse me?”

“It suits you.”

Argent’s voice goes low and cold. “What does that mean.”

Shit, what _do_ you mean? You wave a hand, “Never mind, it’s not important.” You can feel her eyes on you under the mask. “W–w–why are you here?”

Argent doesn’t move, unnaturally still. “Personal business.”

“That business is…?”

“Not yours.”

You huff. It’s an active effort to maintain eye contact, even shielded behind your mask as you are. But you don’t dare look away. “So, who else of your little friends are lurking around here? Who can I expect to find Ortega dressing up as?”

“I don’t need them.” Evasive, obviously, but what kind of evasive?

“Or…” You cross your arms, drum your fingers against your arm. “You don’t want them to know…?”

She shrugs, breaks eye contact. Damn, got it in one. “If you say so. What, you think you can blackmail me about it?”

“Oh, please,” You laugh, “They’d never believe me.” Argent’s already a known loose cannon. And there’s too many ‘heroic’ reasons you could trot out to excuse it. It wouldn’t even be hard.

“That’s true.” Argent shifts position, “Ortega has a lot of faith in her friends.”

You find yourself agreeing before you can stop yourself. “Too much.” Why can’t she see you for what you are? How can she want that? Care about –that–?

“Hrmm…” Argent steps closer, “must be lonely, not having a team.”

You stay put, ready for any sudden movement. “I’m better off alone.”

“Is that so?” She tilts her head down towards you.

“Other people always let you d–down,” you don’t bother trying to filtering the bitterness out of your voice. Let the distortion do that. “Even if they don’t – don’t want to.” The only person you can trust in the end is yourself. If even that.

“I’m not talking about forever,” she snorts, “just tonight. To stay out of each other’s business.”

“A truce?” you ask, incredulous. She seriously doesn’t want a fight then. Just what is Lady Argent doing sneaking into a black market auction hosted by the city’s criminal kingpin? What could _any_ Ranger want here?

And how can you use this to your advantage?

“You’re seriously suggesting a truce?” You repeat.

“For now.”

Like hell are you going to let her escape your sight. “Oh r–really now?” You offer her an arm, “then let me be your escort f–for the evening.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“It’s… n–not a joke.” Your let your arm awkwardly drop.

She glances up at your helmet, as if there’s anything to glean there. “You’re serious.”

“Easier to–” might as well try honesty, “–to keep an eye on each other that way.”

“…fine.”

“S–so you accept?” You offer your arm again.

“Don’t make me regret this.” Argent sighs, and takes your arm. “Where are we going?” Oh. This is… very close. Even with Argent standing as far as way as she possibly can. For some reason you didn’t think about the physical reality of locking arms.

You laugh, sharp and nervous. No idea what that sounds like on the other end of the distorters. Hopefully something more confident than what you’re feeling right now. “W–w–where else would we go? The auction.”


	30. trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing can ever just ‘work according to plan’ for you, can it? How is everything going to go wrong this time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Labyrinth] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=acxW7Al9Ddc)
> 
> [ [the glass labyrinth] ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072074/chapters/50129945)

##  trapped

Will you ever escape the path that was laid out for you? When you were Sidestep you fought against boosts and mods that stepped outside the law. Fought to uphold the very system that had enabled your creation and mistreatment.

Now you’re on the other side of the coin and you’re still pulling on what they taught you. Spying, lying… You let your gaze dance across the room to take-in and evaluate. Who might cause trouble? Who can you push? Who to avoid? Thirteen years on and what has really changed for you?

You can never get out.

Not really.

Argent stands at your side, dressed as a two-bit murder. You were wrong, it doesn’t suit her at all. What does she want in here so badly she’d lower herself like this? The worry is wriggling like a leech at the back of your mind. The conviction that this whole operation is going to turn pear shaped and so far all you’ve managed to do is put the catalyst for it right next to you. At this point there’s not a lot more you can do. Either something goes wrong and you deal with it, or it doesn’t and it never matters.

What does matter is making sure no other surprises catch you unawares. Surprises like–

“Shit.” You whisper.

Argent jerks her head in your direction, shoulders tense. “What?”

No point playing this close to your chest. You’ve done some research via Jane and Dr. Mortum after your first encounter. Mortum had promised to look into it further once the auction was over but… This isn’t something Argent deserves to run into un-forewarned. “Over there, against the wall.” You quickly gesture with an arm, trying not to look like you’re pointing. “The woman in white and red?”

Argent shifts around to hide looking. “Yeah?”

“Shroud.”

“Who?”

“Ember’s enforcer from San Francisco.”

“Ember…” She growls. Not the reaction you had expected. You have to grab her arm to keep her still. “Stay clear of her. She touches someone, they die. Apparently.”

“Oh.” She steps back into place, looks back at you. Confusion mixes with suspicion across her face. “Thank… you…?”

What does Lord Ember want so bad he’d send risk sending one of his scariest agents away to collect it? You really hope it’s not what you’re thinking.

Who are you kidding, you’re not that lucky.

“Why warn me?” Argent stands a little too close for comfort.

“Uh…” Why did you? “Look. Just– just because we’re enemies, it d–doesn’t mean I want you dead.”

“Hrm.” You’re not sure what to make of that, and Argent doesn’t elaborate.

Silence settles in between the two of you as you shift on your feet. Getting restless. “This is… kind of awkward.” You confess.

“What?”

“Trading quips in a fight w–was easier than this.” You don’t look at her, watching the crowd, the stage. The auction is well under way at this point. Nothing particular amazing just yet. You keep an eye on the countdown timer ticking away at the corner of your Heads-Up Display. Not much longer until showtime.

Lady Argent keeps shifting her weight back and forth. That’s why you don’t wear high heels to a standing event, honey. You learned that the hard way as Jane. She makes an awkward half-gesture, like she’s brushing back hair only to realize it’s all hidden under her mask half-way through. “It’s easier to judge someone in a fight.”

You glance over at her and Argent freezes up. Huh. That’s a switch. “And so what’s your judgement on me, then?”

“Jury’s out.” Argent raises a hand as if to fling back her hair and then stops, tries to turn it into a dismissive hand gesture but there’s no saving that one. “But… I haven’t killed you yet.”

“Not for lack of trying.” You’ve had some close calls those last few fights before you buckled down on this project. God knows you’ve done enough to her; if anyone deserves first shot at taking you out, it’s Lady Argent.

“Oh please.” She tilts her head, easy to imagine her rolling her eyes under that mask. “I have been playing so far.”

 _Playing_? “Why?”

Argent sighs, turns her head to focus on the stage instead of you. “I have fun, I guess.” She shrugs. “Fighting you, I mean.”

“I… hrm.” If things weren’t awkward before, they are now. Fun? This is all _fun_ to her? You’re fighting for your life and she thinks it’s… _fun_? Hasn’t she figured it out yet? Who really possessed her? Well, you’re not about to come clean _now_. Not here, not when you’re so close.

Dr. Mortum’s ‘disintegration’ ray comes up on the stage next, packed into a very fancy clear case. Jane’s put in some overtime helping Mortum raise money, liquidate assets, finding buyers… the doctor should have more than enough. If your guess is right. _If_ it’s right. Even if she does… even at that starting bid – ouch. That one is going to hurt.

You could – you could bid against her, drive the price up even higher. You know more or less what her limit is and you’ve got way more than that to play with. You only needed the money to get inside, she needs it to stay in business. And to potentially turn against you.

Or… or you could try to buy it for her, as a gift? The gun clearly has some sentimental value to her beyond the scientific, she’s said as much. Would gifting it help change her mind? Or would she view it as a bribe? See it for what it was: you trying to buy her respect?

The bidding slowly climbs, and Mortum stays in the game as it goes. Maybe… you should stay out of this one. There’s too many variables. Too many risks.

You’ll only step in if Mortum gets outbid. There. That’s as good a compromise as any.

The bidding ends up in a war between Mortum and woman in a business suite far in the back. You tense up, but no, the woman ultimately folds. Dr. Mortum wins her gun back at a very pretty penny. Good for her. Hopefully this won’t come back to bite you in the ass.

The countdown on your HUD chimes. Getting into the final moments now. You glance to your side to check on Argent and – she’s gone. Fuck! When did that happen? While you were focused on Mortum’s lot? Damn it. There’s no time to track her down now.

As soon as time hits zero, the bomb you rigged on the power substation for the block will go off. Power to the whole block of the city will go down. The casino is bound to have back-up generators but enough to power the whole security system? Dampeners are not energy efficient.

Looks like they’re putting the Regenerator up on stage next. Well, that’s handy. You won’t have to dig around backstage to find it then.

The Regenerator… One-of-a-kind prototype. The company responsible immediately shut-down and all their equipment confiscated. And what can it do? Perfect regeneration. The only way to remove your tattoos is to cut deep enough into the skin, practically flay yourself alive. Even if you lived, you’d be crippled, horrifically scared at best.

But with the regenerator in your hands and fully functioning…

Well, it’d be a whole lot easier than trying to overturn the United States Government.

Final countdown now. Then showtime. Breath in, hold, exhale.

5…

You’re not scared. You’re Adrestia.

4…

It’s like leaning out of a window, watching the street below.

3–

A bright flash and a piercing boom rock the auction hall and the crowd cries out in a panic. Your helmet visor dims but not quick enough and the eyes hurt like hell, after images swimming across your vision. Shit! Fuck! You stumble into someone in front of you and they shove you back.

Someone else is robbing the Auction Hall?

The lights flicker overhead before going dark, and the weight of the dampeners pressing in on you vanishes. There we go, there’s _your_ cue. You hum a few notes under your breath and let your mind unfold, tracking every panicked presence huddling together. Too much light turned to not enough. People are scared. Hollow Ground is supposed to ensure a neutral territory, and yet: here’s trouble.

With the Rat-King backing you up, you reach out and wrap your song around the crowd. A jangle of discordant thoughts. The Rat-King buffers you from the worst of it as you smooth out the edges, pointing them towards the exit. You don’t need to nudge everyone. Just the key parts and the rest will follow or be swept along.

Everyone here is a criminal, be they boost, mod, or norm. It won’t be the end of the world if it breaks down into a mass panic. But trying to keep them calm is good practice for the next time you’re faced with civilians. There’s no need to fill up any more hospitals.

Back in the physical world you slowly push your way against the flow of the crowd. Up to the stage. The emergency lighting comes on, casting the room in grim shadows. You brace yourself for any hint of the dampeners but it doesn’t come. Good, you guessed right then. Even with back-up generators, cut off from the main grid the Boulevard Casino doesn’t have enough power to handle everything.

There’s still too many people. Hardened villains thinking about how to turn the chaos to their own advantage. Is it an attack? Earthquake? Is Hollow Ground losing their touch?

‘How can this benefit me?’

You can’t risk any interference. Reach out again, second chorus, worst than the first. Reach in deeper, into the darker spaces. It’s an incoherent barrage from a dozen different traumas and the Rat–King has to pull tight around your mind to keep you from collapsing, from reeling back in shock and snapping the connection.

You can do this. Raise the conductor’s baton, pull it all forward.

Pull them out.

Get out.

Go!

Someone screams and the rest of the crowd starts to move. No calm to it now. Well, you tried. Someone shoves you aside, and oh yeah, physical bodies are still a thing. Switch to low-light vision and the visor tints everything green as you make the rest of the way to the stage. Get back in the game Chickadee.

As you’re about to climb onto the stage, the Rat-King pings your attention.

“Dr. Mortum?” You move over to her, and she takes a step back, hand falls on something on her hip. Shouldn’t be surprised the doctor would have hi-tech glasses. Try to get a read on her thoughts and it’s like grasping at a nest of eels. Multiple tracks going a mile a minute. Maybe in another setting you could pry them apart, but you can’t spare the focus now.

“Adrestia.” Her voice is cold, but shaky. Putting on a mask. “This is your doing, is it not?”

“Goodness. Y–you think highly of me, don’t you?” You hold out your arms to the side, no hidden tricks up your sleeve. “What are you still d–doing here?”

She doesn’t relax. “Your little light show went off right when I was collecting my gun. I need to find it.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Merde, I am not leaving without it.” She certainly sounds serious. Must be to have resisted your mental push both times.

You shrug, try to play off your concern. “I’ve got my own business, but if I find it… I’ll keep it safe. But it won’t be any good if its owner gets herself killed tonight.”

“What are you planning?”

“Nothing.” You turn away from her. “I can’t speak for anyone else though.” You can already sense them, multiple people are on the stage. Prelude to a fight. What are the odds you can grab the regenerator and slip out while they’re busy killing each other?

Ignore the eyes staring daggers into your back as you clamber onto the stage. “Ah, fuck.” There’s a stare-down going alright. Lady Argent, still in Oryx costume is standing between Shroud and… fuck, that’s one of Hollow Ground’s men. Jake Manalo? You’ve tried to dig up some information since Jane’s last encounter with him.

Some kind of boost but hell if anyone can give a straight answer as to what. His thoughts are fuzzy, out of focus. Shroud’s are walled. A barrier with the sensation of metal to touch, a discipline to it that makes you nervous. Only Argent is readable to any extent. Damn.

Try to skirt around the edge, circle back to the regenerator. Wait. Is that Mortum’s gun on the ground? Can you grab it without being noticed… No luck. Jake spots you, hunches his shoulders. “Adrestia, come join the party. And step away from the merchandise.”

Is it good or bad they all know your most up-to-date name?

Argent glances back towards you and everything goes to hell.

Shroud makes her move, going after Argent. Argent dodges the outstretched hand, claws poking through her gloves as she twists to strike back.

Fuck.

Dash across the stage, to grab Mortum’s gun, tossing the case aside like a candy wrapper. Mortum’s gun doesn’t actually kill people does it? It just… stores them for… later. That’s too handy an ace to ignore right now

Jake has left the two women to duel it out in order to chase after you. But whatever Jake’s got, he doesn’t have a powered suit with booster jets. You dash past him, dropping into a slide under his outstretched arm. You come to a stop by the Regenerator, spin on your heel and drop a knee. If you can take out Jake now, maybe you can abscond with the prize while the other two are duking it out.

How does this damn thing work? Hell, when was the last time you used any gun? There’s a light blinking on the side. Battery? As long as there’s enough charge for one shot. You’ll work out the rest later.

Someone off stage yells, their words unprocessed noise as you line up your shot. Hold your breath, sight, finger on the trigger… there’s a loud bang and every nerve in your body lights up in terror.


	31. metal smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to go.
> 
> Tw: past sexual abuse; past abuse; suicidal thoughts; suicide attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Game Over] ](https://youtu.be/BKBZl_BG6mw)
> 
> [ [the glass labyrinth] ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072074/chapters/50129945)

##  metal smoke

The gun drops out of your hands, clattering on the stage.

How?

 _Why_?

What is that thing doing here? Taller than anyone else here, stretching its multiple arms, both organic and metallic up in the air. In the green haze of your low-light vision it could have stepped directly out of one of your nightmares, but no. Very much real. Very much alive. But… something isn’t right. The Catastrofiend’s movements are sluggish and while her skin was never in great condition to begin with, it looks… wrong? Melted? Skin, clothing, or metal? There’s no seam.

Is… this where the Catastrofiend has been all this time? Trapped in Dr. Mortum’s teleportation gun? Did she _know_ that when she asked Jane for help in getting it back?

In the back of your mind the Rat-King screams at you to move.

Dive to the left and a blade stabs the ground where you were kneeling. Mortum’s gun rattles on the floor and you manage the presence of mind to grab hold of it again, clipping it to the back of your belt. In front of you, the Catastrofiend groans, a sickly bubbling sound as she clutches her vestigial human arms to her chest, her other 4 arms unfold and stretch out. Exposed muscle twining into metal, each limb ending in a long razor sharp blade. Like the rest of her, the blades are warped, discolored, wrong.

Oh shit.

Fuck.

“What the hell is this!?” Shroud yells. The Catastrofiend gurgles and turns to swipe at her. She leaps backwards, almost toppling over.

You need to get out of here.

“It’s the goddamn Catastrofiend.” Jake snarls. At the sound of his voice, the monster turns and swipes at him too. Something… happens, Jake goes blurry and the blade passes through him like air. His boost power? No time to think about what that could mean.

Argent snarls, razor claws at the ready. “How the hell did it get here?” When the Catastrofiend turns to swipe at her, she’s ready, stepping in under the arm, slashing at the skin. Something oozes out, but it doesn’t look like blood.

Is it responding to sound? Can she still see? How long was it in there for? Mortum mentioned something about… quantum degradations right…? Your stomach twists. And you were seriously thinking of using it on someone?

With the Catastrofiend taking precedence, a truce quickly settles out. Jake, Argent, and Shroud triangulating around her. Can they come out on top? It took the Rangers multiple attempts before they started getting a handle on her abilities for the first time. Do any of them know what the Catastrofiend is capable of?

Doesn’t seem likely.

It’s only a matter of time before they break ranks and run. You’ve seen the Catastrofiend survive being shot in the head, even as… wrong as it is, there’s no way the three of them are beating her first shot.

This is your chance.

Two parts to the device, don’t forget. The briefcase gets attached to your suit’s utility belt next to Mortum’s gun, clanging awkwardly against your thigh. The prototype itself… it’s bulky, you’ll have to carry it with two hands. You wrap your song tight around yourself, willing the chaos to let you pass by unnoticed. In the back of your mind, you can feel the Rat-King echo you back, magnify the sentiment.

You get your hands under the rough metal edges and heave it into the air. Don’t look. Nothing to see here. Don’t look this way. The battle with the Catatstrofiend is way more pressing, isn’t it? Absolutely.

You don’t breathe again until you’re well behind stage. A scattering of items that still haven’t been sold off remain, abandoned in the chaos. They’ll notice you’re gone eventually. But will they have the luxury to chase after you? You can hope, but banking on your luck doesn’t seem like a smart move.

This part of the Casino is well beyond anything you got to scout in-person as Jane. Hopefully the schematics you swiped are still accurate. You can imagine the red line guiding you alone. Into the backstage hallway, hang a right, there’s a room here. Storage closet. Crouch down just outside and put the prototype aside.

Time to put the Nanovores to work, outstretching your hand against the floor, eating through metal supports and vinyl tiles until the indigestible remains of floor begin to fracture and give way. Slap the ground hard with your hand and it drops into something deeper below.

This part of town is shot through with old smuggling tunnels from the Prohibition era. Illegally dug boltholes, cramped but big enough to fit crates of alcohol. Earthquake country means they’re near suicide to use. Which is why you spent over a week shoring up the supports and ensuring this tunnel would be usable.

Never let the enemy set the field if you can help it.

At the end of this tunnel is a rented get-away truck in an abandoned lot. It had taken a lot of wheedling from Jane, but you even got Rosie to agree to play driver again. It’ll be a clean escape.

You’re almost there. You can do this.

Once the hole is sufficiently wide, you pick up the prototype. There’s noise coming from down the hallway. Pursuers or just echoing from the fight? You can’t tell. Doesn’t matter, it’s time to jump. A hole this time, not a window, but your heart leaps into your throat all the same.

Your booster jets dampen the fall, but the shock rattles up every joint along your legs regardless. The cart you had prepared ahead of time is right where you left it, save for a scattering of debris. You put the prototype down on the cart and sweep the bed clean in one motion.

Take a breath. Home stretch. Next step is to get to the first support joist and start the process of collapsing the tunnel behind you.

The tunnel is damp, and crowded, and dark, dark, dark. You tap on the clip-on flashlight on your utility belt, a tiny narrow cone cutting into the void. It’s not much but it gives your low-light vision something more to work with.

The floor is lumpy, uneven. It makes pushing the cart painfully slow and uncomfortably noisy. With more time you could have smoothed out the floor, but the time constraint on planning this operation had been absurdly tight as it was. Once you get far enough away you can start collapsing the tunnel behind you and it won’t–

Scratches against stone echo behind you and the Rat-king screams for you to move. Only to flinch and clutch your head under the weight of the dampeners pressing back down on you. Something runs across your back and you stagger forwards against the handle of the cart as you cry out. Turn and catch the silhouette of Oryx’s horned mask.

“Are you k–k–kidding me–” You suck in your breath as she swipes at you again, press yourself against the wall as silver claws rend the air where you had just been. Did she cut through your suit? Everything still reads green.

There’s a snarl and you throw your heads up, “Wait, wait, hold on–” If Argent could track you down here, the rest of them can’t be too far behind. “L–let’s talk?”

Argent stares you down, your flashlight bouncing off her silver frame. Shoulders hunched, hands ready to swipe.

“We had a truce.”

She doesn’t relax, but doesn’t attack either. “Only as long as it was convenient.”

“You know w–what’s inconvenient? Getting caught.” The return of the dampeners is a significant problem as well, but Argent doesn’t need to know that one. How did they get them back on so quickly?

The tension drags out entirely too long before Argent drops her hands to her sides. “Then what are you saying?”

“If we fight here we risk them finding us, or worse, damaging this thing.” You gesture behind you. “Let’s… get out of here, then w–we can decide if we’re going to k–kill each other or whatever.”

Argent narrows her eyes, flexing her fingers. Quickest of glances behind her, an opening you don’t take. “Fine.” She sighs, “No tricks. I’ve got your number.”

Oh thank god she can be reasoned with. “Come on, help me push, it’ll go f–faster with both of us.” You move to one side, making space for Argent. She scrunches her nose up, giving you a once over and then steps up beside you, grabbing the handle. Together you trundle through the dark.

“How far?”

“A distance but–” you watch her from the side, “we’re close to a checkpoint I set up to–to–to… to collapse the tunnel behind me.”

She snorts. “Dangerous.”

“Y–yeah well…” try to keep the emotion out of your voice, “it’d be a bother if someone chased after.”

“Too bad for you.”

“Too bad for me.”

The two of you continue along in silence. Pushing the cart is much easier now with Argent’s help. Silence is dangerous, however. Too many unanswered questions, such as: “What uh– what happened with the Catastrofiend?”

“Ran. Chased it. Found you instead.”

“W–well… fuck.”

“How did that thing get in there?”

“N–n–no idea.” You lie, more than a little anxious that you can’t pick up whether she bought the lie or not. You still have Mortum’s gun. Should you– no, no, who knows what else might come flying out. And suppose it did work, what would you even…? No. It’s not an option.

The dampeners begin to lighten as you continue further down, gone by the time you reach a split in the passage, metal joists holding up the ceiling. Small miracles. “Hold on.” You brush your head over the frame, nanovores reducing it to dust under your hand. The ceiling begins to shift and you grab the cart with Argent again. “Come on, let’s move.”

“Cute trick.”

Would it be gauche to thank her? What exactly does she know? This isn’t the time to risk it. You can’t bring Argent straight to you getaway truck. Too dangerous. No, instead, take the other path as the ceiling collapses behind you. This path ends in a brick wall, easily kicked down.

The room on the other side is pitch black as the two of you clamber through. A basement. Old, abandoned. No sense of any other minds nearby. Once you’re above ground you can just radio Rosie. But first you have someone to deal with.

Argent lets go of the cart, turning to face you. “So we both wanted the same thing out of tonight. Lucky us.” You can feel it now, without the dampeners to mask everything. She’s desperate for this.

“So…” You stall for time as you try to get a read on her thoughts. “You know what this is? W–what it can do.”

Argent hunches her shoulders, reading to move. “So do you.”

“It needs to – to be assembled.” You reach back to pat the briefcase hanging from your belt. “What, are you planning to set it up at the Rangers?”

“Don’t be absurd. This is black tech.” Argent huffs. “Even my leash has limits.”

“Leash?” You shake your head. No time to unpack that one. “W–well, I’ve got a place to assemble it safely.”

“And you know how to do that?”

“Do you?”

“Whatever, that isn’t even the biggest problem here.” Evading the question? Interesting. Argent pulls off her helmet, shaking out her silver hair with a grimace on her face. “This is.”

You take a step back, cross your arms. “W–what is?”

“Us.” Argent gestures between the two of you, “this is going to take time to bring online. Weeks… maybe?” She shakes her head. “I’m not letting it leave my sight.”

“Same.” Too much is riding on this.

Argent barks out a laugh. “Why? You already have secrets you can lord over me… you know what I did: the masquerade, breaking and entering–”

“Oh please, d–d–don’t be stupid.” You wave it away, “I know the Rangers. You could explain it all away in a heartbeat. Infiltrating a villain hangout? Retrieving black tech? They’ll, uh, they’ll give you a f–fucking medal.” Is she really that scared of being found out? Why?

“And you? What, am I supposed to just trust someone hiding behind a mask?” Her voice is razor sharp, “You’re a telepath.” You wince under your helmet. “You manipulate everyone and everything around you and…” She shakes her head, throwing her hands up in the air. “I don’t even know why you would want it?”

Her thoughts are barbed, hard to read but… she wants to trust you. Doesn’t want to blow this chance. But why would she? Why would anyone trust you? Ever?

You can’t tell her who you are. Not here, not now. If you were lucky she’d just kill you. She’s earned it, certainly. More likely you’ll have to go into hiding. Abandon any pretense of civilian life you’ve slowly been reclaiming. And that’s…

Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to do? What keeps holding you back?

Argent is getting antsy. You need to say something before she just goes for it and attacks. Maybe you’d win, but damaging the prototype is a risk you’d rather avoid. You can’t exactly come clean about why you need it either. If she treats you with any modicum of respect now, it’s because she’s operating under the mistaken assumption that you’re human.

The very thought of risking that, of letting it go. Maybe if this Regenerator thing works, you can see Julia – _Ortega_ again. But not if… not if she knows what you are. That’s it. That’s game over. The Directive will find you.

You need more time. More resources, more protection.

You can feel your heartbeat quicken. Fuck. God damnit.

You’re trapped.

No matter what you do, you’re going to have to trust her with _something_.

“F–fine. I… I can’t um. I can’t tell you that. But…”

Argent narrows her eyes at you.

“I can… can give you s–something else. S–s–show of trust.”

Your hands are shaking as you reach up, find the clasps of your helmet. Across from you, Argent tenses up but doesn’t attack. Why the hell are you doing this? Except – she… she deserves to know. Doesn’t she? Wouldn’t you want to know? The kind of monster you’re working with?

And what do you have left of your civilian life at this point anyway? You knew this couldn’t last forever. If she kills you here, she has every right to.

The display goes dark as you pop the helmet from the seal, disconnected from the rest of the suit. Your gut twists, a sharp pain as you struggle to keep your breathing under control. You feel sick. Unreal, like you’ve stepped outside yourself. This is such a stupid idea.

You can feel the Rat-King curl around you, trying to protect you from the danger. Joke’s on it, the biggest danger to you here is yourself.

Can barely see as you pull the helmet up, over, hold it in your hands in front of you. In this dim gloom you can’t read Argent’s face, only her mind. Quiet and struggling to process what she’s seeing. She steps toward you and you step back.

“Ariadne Becker.” If there was any doubt about her being able to see in the dark, it’s gone now. All that effort into avoiding her, and you’ve blown it in one go.

“G–got it in – in one.”

You can feel her line of the facts in her head. A rube goldberg machine of little revelations collapsing into the next. Here comes the net.

Can see her cross her arms through the gloom, shift her weight. “It wasn’t Locus, was it, Ariadne?” She snarls. You can feel the fury building up in her head, leaking out through her composure. Didn’t she promise to eviscerate the person responsible?

Die now or die later, might as well jump.

“Y–yes.” You can’t look at her as you say it. “I’m sorry–”

She moves and you don’t even try to dodge. Grabbing you by the front of your armor. Can hear the scraping of claws digging into the ablative pieces, poking the mesh underneath. Panic takes over and you drop your helmet trying to get free, only for white to explode across your vision as your head is rocked hard to the left. Pain sears across the right side of your face. Her hand is the only thing holding you upright.

“Don’t you dare try apologizing to me.”

“It– it was w–wrong, I–”

The second slap hits you on the left side of your face, there’s a ringing in your ears, and you can taste copper from biting your tongue. To call her ‘mad’ undersells the storm of emotions radiating off her. Is she going to kill you? You can hope. Of all the beatings you’ve taken in your life, there’s no question you deserve this one.

“I–I–I’m sorry.” You swallow hard, fighting back nausea. “I shouldn’t have– I mean I– I know what it’s– what it’s like and I…” You’re babbling now. Too many words desperate to get out at once.

Her hand comes down again, hard. You can really taste the blood now. “Don’t you fucking dare compare yourself to me.” She growls in your face, as she raises her hand, pulling it back into a fist, and you try not to flinch. Brace yourself.

When the blow doesn’t come, you open your eyes.

Her hand hovers an inch away from your skin. “You used me.”

“I–I–I did.”

From the corner of your eye you can see her uncurl her fist, fingers slowly elongating into claws, piercing through the glove. “I should kill you.”

“It– It would be… pretty easy right now.” Your heart is pounding, mouth tasting copper, and throat feeling sticky. The Rat–King in the back of your head is screaming at you to do something but this… You don’t fight back, don’t struggle.

This is too familiar.

The light always reflected just-so off the seams in the bricks, white paint sloppily coated on. How many times did you scrub those walls clean? Erase the evidence? Lights bright enough to hurt your eyes after hours in the dark.

Day after day, until –

For everything you’ve tried to change, you’re still where you started. Did you ever get free, really? Was that ever possible? If she did you in now… does the thing you can’t bring yourself to go through with… then isn’t that a victory for everyone really?

You’re not Adrestia here anymore. Just Ariadne.

You’re not strong. You’re weak.

You’re not brave. Your heart is pounding against your ribs.

You’re not in control.

You’re helpless.

“I could do it…” Her hand is shaking, tightly packaged doubts unraveling in her mind, blotting out her resolve. “I should…”

“Then do it already!”

She lets you go, pushing you backwards.

Hit the side of the tunnel and try to hold yourself up. “I thought you – why are you hesitating?”

“Shut up!” She hisses through clenched teeth and comes at you again. This time her hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to send alarm bells. “You really want to die that badly, Becker?” You can feel it running through her head, all the little fantasies she had constructed about this moment.

Your vision blurs as you laugh. “Y–yeah, actually.”

Can feel something sharp poke against your neck, and then just as suddenly it’s gone. Argent hisses air through clenched teeth. “Don’t be a coward.” She touches her other hand to your face, one nail scratching just under your eye.

“W–what?”

“You don’t deserve to get off that easy.”

Of course not.

Idiot.

A line of white fire runs down your face, blinding you in your left eye. Blink, and your vision is back but bloody. You can feel the cut run from forehead to cheek. It hurts like hell, can already feel the blood running down the side of your face. The kind of wound that needs stitches..

She lets go of you, pushing you back against the wall as she steps away. Licking the blood off her finger, she glares at you. “That was for using me. Don’t _ever_ go into my head again.”

You slide to the floor.

This… this really just happened. “I – I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.” There’s no way you’ll ever be able to explain it, is there? But then, it’s not really about you, is it?

“Shut up.” Argent snaps. “You said you can put it together?”

You nod your head. You hope you aren’t overestimating your ability.

“Then put it together. Don’t even think about double-crossing me on this.” Her smile in the dim glow of your suit’s flashlight is cold and all teeth. She’s in control of the situation again and she knows it. “Don’t worry, Becker.” She puts a finger to her lips. “This’ll be our secret.”

Yeah.

You’ve heard that one before.

She turns away from you and stalks up the stairs to find her way out of whatever building this is a basement of. As she turns she moves her hand from her mouth out to the side, transitioning into giving you the middle finger as she departs.

You sit there against the wall until her footsteps fade and you lose track of her mind. Gingerly you touch a hand to your face, hiss at the fresh sting of pain. Still bleeding. Will absolutely need stitches. Probably end up a scar. Right center in the middle of your face, where no one can miss it.

Well, it’s not like you don’t have plenty of experience covering those up.

With shaking hands you find your helmet, where it rolled up against a fallen piece of rebar. You put it back on, snapping the seals into place. Never a fun time to clean out blood from the _inside_ of the suit, but that’s the least of your problems right now.

It feels like you’re puppeteering your own body as you pick your way to ground level, slowly dragging the cart behind you. Once daylight becomes visible, you tuck it in a corner and step out into the street.

“Rosie?”

Her voice comes over the radio, scratchy and warbled. “Yeah, hey? Adrestia?”

“You got it.”

“What’s going on? I’m listening to the news, and it sounds like hell down there.”

“Complications.” You cough. “I’m at a different exit point. I’ll ping you the new rendezvous. Can you make it there?”

There’s a pause, then the sound of a tongue clicking against teeth. “Yeah. I can do that. Not too far off.”

“Just me. And the package. But be wary.” You grit your teeth, have to squint your left eye closed. “Th–thanks.”

“Uh, yeah.” She does, bewildered. “Sure thing, boss.”

You can’t get away from this place soon enough.


	32. stay away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You need time to think. Time you don’t really have but it's not like your brain has ever been interested in cooperating with you before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: suicidal thoughts, emetophobia
> 
> [ [Black Out Days] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a0ul-BghOAs)

##  stay away

The wind blows your hair against your face, loose strands catching in your mouth. Makes you sputter, one hand flailing to get everything back into order. It’s an impossible task. Is that what Dr. Finch feels, after talking to you? Every seeming success undone with the revelation of even more threads tangled together and catching fingers.

Fuck.

Press a hand into your good eye. The stitches down your left are still holding the wound shut. A steady diet of aspirin helps to keep the pain and inflammation down. On some level you know you need to start working on the Regenerator. Maybe see about bringing Dr. Mortum into it? She has more equipment than you do.

No.

Wait.

Your gut twists.

Dr. Mortum is working with Jane still.

Not with you.

You’ll have to figure this out on your own.

Jane agreed to work with Dr. Mortum… against yourself? Is that how it works? Jane and the doctor haven’t talked since the auction fiasco. You’ve been putting off that conversation. Can’t keep doing that. Need to arrange a meeting. You have Mortum’s teleportation gun. So, maybe that will help mollify things? Except you sort of technically stole it from her during the chaos. Maybe the best you can hope for there is a net-zero gain. Not great.

Also, like, the gun spat out the goddamn Catastrofiend? Or some twisted fun-house mirror version.

So.

Now the Catastrofiend is loose somewhere in the city again, and even more fucked up than ever before. How long had it been trapped in that gun? And what was it Mortum said? Things stored in the – the quantum bubble thing degraded over time? Would that make defeating Catastrofiend easier or harder? The thought of Julia having to face it down makes your gut twist. Can you really trust the new ranger team to work together?

Do you even _want_ them to get better at teamwork?

And – And Lady Argent isn’t going to wait forever.

Argent…

Just thinking about her is enough to set your hands shaking again. Legs kicking loose in the open air as you look down out over the bay. Overhead the bridge shudders from the weight of the vehicles. All evidence of your attack on Vanderpoel has been wiped away.

You have to make it up to Argent somehow. She wants the Regenerator too, though like hell if you can guess why. You owe it to her, obviously.. Most of the people you’ve possessed… You don’t even remember their names. Who they are, where they might be now. You can never make it right. But Lady Argent is here.

She’s here, and she knows, and she – she… You have to force your hand down. To stop picking at the wound. Not that you deserve to have it heal correctly. It’s… just a matter of practicality. The longer you’re out of it with this headache the longer it’ll take.

Why the hell did you tell her?

Not _what_ you are, not entirely, but it’s enough to hang you with. Can’t avoid her forever. Going by the lack of police breaking down your apartment or Rangers hounding your every move, she’s keeping her word to keep it secret. But for how long. As long as you’re working on the regenerator you have leverage. If you get it working, get the life free of the orange brand that haunted you all these years, will you still even have a life to live?

Surely there’s something less dangerous you could have done back there right?

Open-heart surgery on yourself. That would have greater odds of long-term survival.

Part of you can’t believe she’s actually kept her word. That the Special Directive, or the Rangers or _something_ hasn’t already busted down your door and dragged you back to hell.

Your hands find the metal edge of your seat, the wrong side of the abandoned foot traffic path. Fingers rubbing against hard rounded edges. Calls to mind memory of fences. The safety of knowing you were on one side and _they_ were on the other.

Dr. Finch claims you’re traumatized. Possibly PTSD? But she doesn’t have the full picture. She can’t. You can’t _be_ traumatized. Nothing that happened is… out of the ordinary for something like you, is it? What was it like, before? Trying to remember what things were like before you escaped the first time is like shaking an empty can. You know what was supposed to be in there but…

Why did you even _want_ to escape?

Tests, experiments, surgeries, operations, wetwork… it’s all the stuff you were _created_ for. It’s why you exist. How can you be such a failure to not be able to take it?

The Farm and the Directive both need to fucking burn to ground, with everyone involved trapped inside. They’re torturers. Murders and – and you can feel it in your bones. Despite every logical counterargument. Frankly, none of this would be happening right now if _she_ had just done the right thing and let them recycle you for spare parts. It happened all the time. What made you worth keeping?

You groan and clutch your head with both hands, bending over. Everything was simpler when you could just cling to your anger and fantasize about revenge. There wasn’t any question of who deserved what or why. Just that pain in your chest and the need to get it out into the world.

Something twinges your awareness as you’re forced to look up. One hand wiping at your eyes from under your sunglasses. Who is…? Oh. Oh just fucking great. Herald’s flying towards you. Didn’t he find you hanging out here on the edge of the bridge path before? He’s going to start suspecting something. Assuming he doesn’t already.

The thought twists your gut.

You should get up. Get out of here before he closes the distance. Unsteady hands push down on the metal lip as you pull back, trying to get to your feet. As you stand, your foot catches on something, an exposed bolt? And your ankle twists. Hands grab empty air and everything goes sideways.

You’re falling.

Oh.

Well.

This sucks.

This is definitely on brand for you.

It finally happens and it’s an accident, not an active choice.

One final middle finger from the world.

Is Julia going to be alright?

You hope she doesn’t take it too hard.

God what a stupid way to–

The air is forced out of your lungs as something impacts you, clasps around and suddenly the air shifts direction and you’re going… up?

“I’ve got you!” Sunshine and determination, oh fuck it’s

“H–herald?”

“Are you okay?”

“Ground.” You croak out. “Put me on – on the ground.”

The world tilts again and now the shore is growing closer. Closer. Rocky beach and boardwalk and ground. Your shoes scrape concrete and Herald lets go of you. You immediately collapse, knees refusing to work, and Herald has to grab you again to hold you up. Walk you over to a nearby bench.

People.

Are.

Staring.

Eyes searching your face. Fear? Seriously? “Ariadne? Are you okay?”

You want him to let go of you. You don’t want him to let go of you.

Fuck.

Everyone needs to go away.

Right Fucking Now.

“I…” Your throat seizes up, words refusing to come.

“Hey, just breathe with me okay? Just… breathe?”

Are you panicking? Chest hurts, your hands gripping something but what? Everything is color and noise and is he still talking? None of it makes sense. Talking to who? Who is touching?

Have to go have to get away have to – everything tilts and now your head hurts and something warm is against your side and fuck fuck fuck

The world filters back in, bits and pieces at a time. Unrelenting and unforgiving. Your cheek against sun-baked ground, legs curled up tight against your midsection. Someone – Herald crouched over you. Hand on your arm.

Groaning you roll onto your back and stare up. Smog clouds drifting across a blue sky.

“How’re you doing, Ariadne?”

Herald. Herald’s asking that. With his voice. His thoughts cloudy sunshine, guarded.

“What…” Your voice cracks and you cough. “What the f–f–fuck?”

“You um…” Herald’s eyes dart away from you. “You fell. I caught you.”

“Accident.” Suddenly it’s very important he understands that. “Slipped. It – it was an–an–an accident.”

“Yeah. I saw.”

Oh thank god.

“You’re lucky I was flying by.” Fuck. He’s shaken too. Fuck. You idiot. Thoughtless. “Can you stand?”

You let Herald pull you to your feet. Fall forward and grab onto him as your vision drains into black before slowly filling back in. Face warm you quickly step away. “Th–thanks, wonderbread.”

No one else around. Where did they go? Did you imagine them?

Herald’s thoughts don't explain anything. “Anytime.”

“I – hope not. That was… I was reckless.” You glance around. Seagulls. That’s it. Where did… everyone go?

Herald raises his eyebrows at you. “There’s a reason that gate is chained up.” When he sees the expression on your face, he relents, biting his lip as he looks away. Can see where his thoughts are leading and–

“I just s–slipped. That’s, uh, that’s all. Nothing else.” You try to add a telepathic weight to your words. He needs to believe you. Needs to think you’re normal.

“Is this where you’ve been instead of our training the last couple of weeks?”

“No.” Your response comes a little too fast. He doesn’t buy it. Damn him.

“Everyone’s been worried.”

Something in your chest twists and you have to step away. Put distance between you. “N–not my problem. They shouldn’t be.”

“Ortega’s _really_ worried.”

“I’m fine!” You scream it, fists at your side. “There’s nothing wrong! Just–just–just everybody leave me the fuck alone!” You step away and a hand grabs your shoulder. On reflex you twist around, fist aimed straight for his face. Herald catches your hand pushing your arm up and away.

The two of you stare at each other.

“Uh–” You unclench your hand. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“I’ve been keeping up on my own.” He lets go.

“That’s… um. That’s good.” You pull your arms back, folding them under your shawl. “Not completely hopeless.”

He forces a smile, “High praise from you.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.” You scowl and step back. “S–sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m just… I’m on edge.”

You watch his eyes flicker up to the cut carving your eyebrow in two. A flurry of questions he presses down on. “I can see that.”

“Shut up.” When you realize you’re glaring at him, you grimace – try to pull your face back into something more neutral. “Look… I – I’m sorry. For all the trouble and–and–and going AWOL like that.”

“Is everything okay?” Herald frowns. Well, you did promise Ortega you’d ruin his hero worship of you. Mission fucking accomplished.

“It’s… Yeah.” You swallow, plaster a faint smile on. “I’ve just – I’ve been busy. Was um. Was sick a little. Lost my phone. Found it again… yeah.” You shrug, willing him to buy it. “You know how it is.”

“Hrm.” Is he buying it? You’re not sure. Fuck – why did you teach him about protecting against telepathy you stupid idiot?

“Th–thanks for um. For not letting me fall to–to–to my death and everything.” You’re not sure if you’re lying or not. “It’s um… well. That would have been a pretty pathetic way to go.”

Herald fidgets, barely touching the ground with his feet. Can tell he wants to say something but is holding back. Concern. Ugh. How does this keep happening? How do people keep worrying about you? What are you doing wrong to make them care? Why don’t they fucking get it jesus christ. Herald holds out a hand. “Do you want a lift anywhere?”

You step backwards, shaking your head. “I – no. Thanks. I’m good. Just, um, just going to take a cab home.”

“You’re sure?” He frowns. Already debating whether to follow you. Cool. Awesome. Why do half your acquaintances have to be literal superheroes? Rosie would have just bought Jane a drink and given her a pat on the back on the way out. Maybe a thumbs up if she was feeling generous.

That’s about the level of concern you can handle.

“S–super sure.”

“Alright. Well, actually…” Herald hesitates, one hand picking at the sleeve of his skinsuit. “If I can ask like… one favor?”

“Um.”

“I mean, I don’t normally do something like this. But well, I think it’s called for here and–”

You groan, waving a hand to cut him off. “Just spit it out Wonderbread.”

“Right.” He smiles, “Just, talk to Ortega?”

You blink.

“I’m not trying to meddle, I swear.” There’s a lie if you ever heard one. “Whatever’s going on… Just let her know you’re okay?”

You take a breath, hold it. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask.”


	33. take me down the corridor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you okay?   
>  Tw: self-harm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [For My Crimes] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lu0zQzlb--k)

##  take me down the corridor

You lied to Herald of course. You’re not going back home. Not yet. Too keyed up. Too many temptations in your apartment. After three taxi cabs you set out walking in a random direction. Mapping out the city with foot and mind.

Text Ortega, Herald says.

Ortega’s worried, he says.

He’s wrong.

He has to be wrong.

What kind of person would that make you, if he wasn’t?

It doesn’t bear thinking about.

You need to buckle down. Focus. Stay away from the Rangers. Stay away from Lady Argent. Work on the Regenerator. It’s all you’re good for. And then… and then what? Go back to being Adrestia? Try and take over Los Diablos? Where’s the part where you get revenge against the Directive? And the Farm? Did you forget? That’s why you’re doing this. Why you’re even alive at all.

What’s the point in being alive otherwise?

Someone pushes past you on the street, which is alarming enough all on it’s own. Were you really that out of it? Can’t afford to be that lax. Sloppy. Stupid. You pull aside, pressing against the wall and outside the stream of pedestrian traffic. Scratch at an old itch on the inside of your elbow. Memory of old habits.

The drugs never actually made things better, but it’s hard to remember that. Hard to focus. Hard to think. Cottonheaded memories. You fiddle with your sunglasses, never can get them to sit just right. Is one of your ears slightly higher than the other? Never thought about it before. Fuck, now you’re going to be obssessing over it in the mirror every morning. Another hammer to hit yourself with.

A note of alarm pings your awareness and you jerk your head up. Shoulders tense, hands clenched. You’re not exactly in the safest part of town now. Quick look around doesn’t show anything amiss. So… What is it? Where’s the danger?

You find the thought again and grab on to it. It’s moving away from you. Follow the pull. It’s not a long walk, half a block and through an alley. You slip a hand into your purse and find the brass knuckles, wrap your fingers through the hold.

When you reach the center – you don’t wait for him to notice you. It’s a sucker punch to the side of the face. The man with a gun goes flying to the ground. A tug at his mind and the weapon drops from his hand. The woman remains pressed against the wall, shocked? Holding herself up in the moment and afraid to lose it.

You glance at her, try to smooth out the notes of terror playing on loop. Pick her name out of her mind. “¿Estás bien, Oliva?”

A moment to realize you’re talking to her and she nods. “Él… él iba a matarme.”

“Tienes que salir de aquí.” You add some prodding to your words, urging her to get moving. Oliva hesitates, glancing between you and the man.

You tilt your head, smile. “Voy a estar bien.”

The man spits blood on the ground, shaking the ringing from his head as he scrambles to get up. You stand in place, watching him. “What the fuck…” He puts a hand to his cheek, feeling the impact from your punch. Narrows his eyes at you. “Crazy bitch, mind your own business.”

You shrug your arms free of your shawl, watching his face. Where his eyes dart, the thoughts running through his mind. “No.” Adrenaline pouring through your system, heart pounding. This is what you need, everything is simpler in a fight.

He keeps looking at the gun on the ground between the two of you.

“Go ahead. Try.”

He dives for it, hands scrabbling. A spin kick connects with the other side of his face, and he slides away, rolling onto his back. Groaning and clutching at his nose, hands coming away bloody. He’s a thug. No training. This situation is yours to control.

“Bitch!” His hand finds the other wall, pulling himself to his feet. “Ya know… they’re watching. Making sure I do this.” Oh good, a gangster. “They’re gonna fuck you up girl.”

You stretch out your awareness. Sure enough, someone on the roof above. Sights on your back. Cute. Wrap a song in the tangle of their mind and pull.

There’s a scream as the woman loses her balance, topples over the lip of the roof. She doesn’t have far to fall, but she does it face first. Oliva claps her hands over her mouth. She’s still here?

“Thanks for the warning.” You nod at the crumpled heap.

The gangster’s eyes widen. Fear winning out over fury, finally. “Oh shit… Rebecca?”

Rebecca doesn’t answer.

You spare another look in Oliva’s direction. “¡Vamos!” Push harder this time. Oliva clenches her fist, mouthing a ‘gracias’ before taking off. You refocus on the gangster wannabe. “Want to try for the gun again, cabrón?”

He swallows.

You kick it towards him this time.

He grabs it, fires. But you’re not there. Already on him from the side, grab his gun arm and twist. He tries to break free and you turn his momentum against him, shoving him into the wall. The gun clatters to the ground.

“She might live. If you get an ambulance here quick enough. Or… I could keep beating you up.”

You let go of him and the gangster wannabe turns around to face you again. He shakes his head, blood running down his nose, over the hand he holds to his face. Glaring daggers at you.

You stare back, face placid.

He breaks for it, running past you. Or tries to anyway. You stick out your foot and trip him. He hits the ground again with a cry of dismay. “Don’t abandon your teammate.”

“You killed her, you psychopath!”

“She’s not dead yet.” Her neck is probably broken, but that’s survivable. You can attest to that. You kick the gangster in the stomach as he rolls over. “You have a phone. Call 911.”

“Bitch!”

You kick the gangster wannabe again. “Language.”

You stare down at him. He stares back up.

“Well?” You look at him expectantly. “Get the f–f–fucking phone out of your pocket and call 911, Jeremy.”

Jeremy’s eyes widen. “What the fuck are you?”

“Above your paygrade. Now.” You kick him again, hard, below the ribs. “Call.”

With shaking hands, he slowly reaches down into his pocket. Pulling out his phone and plugging in the number. You watch patiently as he gives an anxious report of his ‘friend’s’ predicament.

“Make sure to mention you’re both criminals.” You press your foot into his stomach.

Jeremy bites back a scream, amending his testimony. He nods at the voice on the phone, staring at you the whole time.

“Well?”

He swallows. “They’re uh, they’re on their way. Supposed to stay on the line.”

You nod. “Yeah. That’s standard.” You reach into his head, wrapping a song around his panicking scattered thoughts. That’s the nice thing about pain. Hard to keep your walls up when the body is screaming for attention. “It’s not necessary.”

Pull and snap the strings.

Jeremy’s eyes roll up in his head and he relaxes on the ground, unconscious. When he wakes up he’s going to have a hard time remembering the last couple of hours.

Shaking your hand you slide the brass knuckles off. Pull out a tissue and wrap them up so the blood doesn’t get everywhere in your purse. You let out a breath, dusting yourself off.

Why the hell did you just do that?

This was none of your business.

Moreover, that woman, Olivia saw your face. Did Jeremy’s buddy see it too? Too many loose ends. Stupid. Stupid idiot. Reckless. Grimacing you pick up the pace, walking out of the alley and flagging down the next taxi you can grab. The more distance you can put between yourself and this the better.

Have to pull at the Taxi driver’s mind to get him to shut up. Need to think. What is going on with you? You’re not a vigilante anymore. You can’t just fucking… sniff down every two-bit wanna be murderer.

And that–

What you did–

That was just fucking sadistic. Sloppy. Unprofessional.

There was no way you could risk sticking around, but now you can’t get that other woman out of your head. That brief second of fear before impact. _Was_ she going to live? Could either of them even afford the bills? – wait no, why do you even care, they were going to fucking murder someone. Gangster initiation?

They deserved worse. You shouldn’t feel bad at all.

Fuck.

Two taxi rides later and you’re back in your apartment. Cleaning the blood off the brass knuckles under the kitchen faucet.

You completely outclassed that guy. Probably didn’t even need to do anything telepathic. Could have cleaned his clock just with your fists alone. Not a mod, not a boost. Just a regular witless idiot. A gangster with the bad luck to have you come upon him.

You watch the scalding water pour through your fingers. Some part of your brain yells at you to jerk your hands back. Flinch. Angry red pulses back up at you. Shit, too long. Hissing at the pain you switch to cold water, stick your hands back under. It’s one thing to burn an arm. Your fingers are too visible. There’ll be questions.

Would be questions.

If you were still seeing Ortega.

Fuck.

You wish you could talk to Ortega right now.

How many times did you have to talk her down from clowning on assholes? She’d understand that, at least. She’d get it. Make you feel a little less alone. You just. You saw them there. In the alley and – so angry. Didn’t stop to think. Running on automatic.

What does it mean if _that_ is your automatic?

Once your hands have sufficiently turned to ice you turn off the faucet and towel them off. It’s too late at night to make dinner, and you’re not hungry anyway so you flop into bed. Roll over onto your back and stare up at the ceiling.

This would be the part of the routine where you slip into Jane and get to work setting up your next operation. There’s supplies you’ll need for building the Regenerator that you can’t just pick up in a hardware store.

Not to mention you need to see about getting Dr. Mortum’s gun back to her. And following through on that whole mess.

Fuck.

You really shouldn’t–

Fuck you Herald.

With a groan you roll onto your side and reach a hand off the bed groping for your purse. Pull it closer and get out your cell phone. A notification on the lock screen;: another new message from Ortega. You’ve been avoiding looking at any of them.

Fucking hell.

You open up the text messages.

> Thur, Dec 31, 5:56 PM
> 
> Sparkles: Ari I’m so sorry
> 
> Fri, Jan 1, 8:11 AM
> 
> Sparkles: Ari I know how u think
> 
> Sparkles: it wasn’t ur fault ok? It wasn’t
> 
> Sparkles: I messed up, I was being too forward
> 
> Sparkles: It won’t happen again, I promise
> 
> Sun, Jan 3, 10:13 AM
> 
> Sparkles: Hey
> 
> Sparkles: How’re you doing?
> 
> Sparkles: Herald says u no-showed this week?
> 
> Sparkles: U feeling ok?
> 
> Thur, Jan 7, 5:43 AM
> 
> Sparkles: I found this new place that sells Sparkles: Mochi ice cream
> 
> Sparkles: Can I tempt u?
> 
> Mon, Jan 11, 3:41 PM
> 
> Sparkles: U doing okay Ari?
> 
> Sat, Jan 23, 7:03 PM
> 
> Sparkles: Hey Ari
> 
> Sparkles: You awake?
> 
> Sparkles: Did you see Banshee is calling themself Sparkles: ‘Adrestia’ now
> 
> Sparkles: Angie says it’s greek?
> 
> Sparkles: Love to get your input
> 
> Sun, Jan 24, 10:22 AM
> 
> Sparkles: Ari
> 
> Sparkles: Ari please just talk to me Sparkles: Yell at me say something
> 
> Sparkles: I’m sorry
> 
> Mon, Feb 8 1:18 AM
> 
> Sparkles: Did u get hit by the power outage?
> 
> Sparkles: There was a panic at the Boulevard too
> 
> Sparkles: U were never much of a gambler, right?
> 
> Sparkles: Stay safe
> 
> Yesterday, 12:24 AM
> 
> Sparkles: Ari seriously
> 
> Sparkles: Ur worrying me
> 
> Today, 6:36 PM
> 
> Sparkles: Herald said he saw you today?
> 
> Sparkles: I hope you’re okay
> 
> Today, 11:44PM
> 
> Sparkles: At least let me know you’re okay
> 
> Sparkles: If you don’t want to talk to me ever again
> 
> Sparkles: Fine
> 
> Sparkles: But… tell me that
> 
> Sparkles: Please?

Fuck.

Wow.

Okay.

You press a hand over your eye. Not even going to touch the red button on ‘missed calls.’ You drop your hand to the side, phone still in your grip. It vibrates in your hand. Another new message. Goddamnit.

Okay.

Breathe.

In.

Hold.

Out.

What is it this time? Ah. Ortega. Of course it would be.

> Sparkles: Ari you’ve got read receipts on i know ur reading these

You’ve been made. How can she even still want to talk to you?

> Becker: Fuck
> 
> Sparkles: Every time and you forget
> 
> Becker: i
> 
> Becker: i’m sorry
> 
> Sparkles: Where u’ve been?
> 
> Sparkles: It’s been like almost two months…
> 
> Becker: busy
> 
> Becker: work
> 
> Becker: video games
> 
> Becker: you know
> 
> Becker: stuff
> 
> Sparkles: Video Games
> 
> Becker: you don’t know me
> 
> Sparkles: Name one video game
> 
> Becker: …
> 
> Becker: Pac-Man
> 
> Sparkles: That’s what i thought
> 
> Becker: fiiiiiiiiine
> 
> Becker: it was cooler than saying science books
> 
> Sparkles: Ur so full of it
> 
> Sparkles: Ari i promise to never mistake u for cool
> 
> Becker: thank you
> 
> Sparkles: Sorry i lied ur extremely cool
> 
> Becker: f u
> 
> Sparkles: Haha
> 
> Sparkles: So… are _we_ cool?
> 
> Becker: what? I’m the one in the wrong
> 
> Becker: i shouldn’t have
> 
> Becker i
> 
> Becker: i got scared
> 
> Sparkles: Hey no I was going too fast
> 
> Becker: shut up
> 
> Becker: let me finish
> 
> Becker: this is hard for me
> 
> Sparkles: Wow okay

What do you say? What are you supposed to fucking say that won’t sound like a fucking joke?

> Today, 12:05 AM
> 
> Sparkles: Ari?
> 
> Becker: look
> 
> Becker: um
> 
> Becker: i don’t know how this works
> 
> Becker: what to do
> 
> Becker: but what i did
> 
> Becker: wasn’t cool
> 
> Becker: i’m sorry
> 
> Sparkles: R u free this weekend?
> 
> Sparkles: So we can talk?
> 
> Becker: i
> 
> Becker: alright fine
> 
> Sparkles: U don’t have to
> 
> Sparkles: But
> 
> Sparkles: Maybe…
> 
> Sparkles: Have dinner with me?
> 
> Sparkles: Tomorrow night?
> 
> Sparkles: Or i guess, just tonight now
> 
> Sparkles: Ari?
> 
> Becker: …that’s valentine’s day
> 
> Sparkles: What a crazy random happenstance
> 
> Becker: hrm
> 
> Sparkles: I’m not thinking of like
> 
> Sparkles: Doing anything fancy
> 
> Sparkles: I just
> 
> Sparkles: I want us to talk
> 
> Sparkles: Please?
> 
> Becker: fine
> 
> Sparkles: Great!!!
> 
> Sparkles: Meet at memorial park like always?
> 
> Sparkles: 5ish?
> 
> Becker: that works for me
> 
> Sparkles: Great!!
> 
> Sparkles: 💖
> 
> Becker: wait
> 
> Becker: what
> 
> Becker: what does that mean
> 
> Becker: julia what does that mean
> 
> Becker: haha
> 
> Becker: very funny
> 
> Today, 2:16AM
> 
> Becker: goddamnit


	34. you've been falling for so long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You promised Ortega – said you’d be there. So… here we go. You’ve had fights less frightening than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Strange Torpedo] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MsHr4R8lFnY)
> 
> [ [Green Eyes] ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180341/chapters/50416748)

##  you’ve been falling for so long

Turn the corner, and there she is, plaid vest over white shirt. Cropped jeans and middle-aged mom-hair. Ortega sees you and breaks into a smile, standing up from the park bench to wave you over.

Either you’re safe or this is about to be the most casual arrest ever.

“Ari! You made it!” She moves towards you as you get close, arms outstretched. Don’t evade as she pulls you into a hug. It’s tight and warm and lasts maybe a second too long.

“Jesus, Ortega,” laugh as you disentangle yourself, “w–what’s got you all excited?”

She manages to land a quick peck on your nose before you can put a safe distance between the two of you. Ortega quirks her mouth to the side, giving you a look. “We haven’t talked in two months, and we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.” She runs a hand down your right arm, catching your fingers before you can hide them away under your shawl. “I’m just glad to see you, okay?”

You break eye contact, pushing your sunglasses back up your nose. “I told you it – it wasn’t your fault.” You flex your fingers, caught in her hand. Intimately aware of every point of contact. This… this is okay, right? You can do this, right?

“Ari.” Ortega sighs. She’s not letting your hand go. Won’t let you go. “You ghosted me after having a panic attack, of course I’m going to wonder what I could have done differently.”

“That’s…” Was it that obvious?

Drop your head, let your shoulders sag. It doesn’t take much to play up how exhausted you feel. “I’m sorry.” Look up at her again, searching her face while avoiding the eyes. “I needed to d–do some uh, soul searching.” Not a complete lie.

“And did you find it?” Her voice is wry, but your heart skips a beat and you freeze up. She sees the expression on your face and winces. “That was a joke, sorry.”

“I – it’s fine.” The response is automatic. “I d–deserved that.”

“You really scared me.”

You frown, looking away from her, study the people walking past. “Why?”

“Come on Ari, you really need to ask?”

“I’m sorry.” You throw that out there again, as if that fixes anything.

“I have to ask,” she shifts her weight on her feet, glances around the two of you. Making sure no one is listening in? Could have just asked you. “Have you been paying attention to the news?”

You offer a non-committal shrug. “If it happens to, um – to be on.”

“You know about how Adrestia attacked the Boulevard Casino?” She watches you from the corner of her eye. Eyes flicking away every time you glance towards her.

“That’s the ritzy place that was in the, uh, in the news this week?” The news media, has unsurprisingly gotten a very limited version of what happened. No mention of any illegal black market auction, or Argent, or–

“The Catastrofiend’s back.”

“Fuck.” You freeze up. Just hearing the name aloud sends a spike of panic through you. How the hell does Ortega know? What exactly did Argent tell the other Rangers? “They’re going to – to make you go after her aren’t they?”

“It’s part of the job.”

You shake your head, “F–f–fuck that, let me help.” The words leave your mouth before you process what you’re saying. “I–I–I’m not letting you fight that thing alone.”

“You’re retired.” Ortega’s voice is distant, wondering? “And I have a whole team, let me remind you.”

“You nearly d–died.” You squeeze her hand hard. “W–w–would have without me.”

“I remember.” Her voice is wry. “I’ll be fine. We have Lady Argent this time around.” She flashes a grin. “You’re not the one who should be worried.”

“What d–does that mean?”

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid?” She pulls you closer, searching your face. “Between Adrestia picking a fight with Hollow Ground and this… things have the potential to get real stupid, real quick. Just… be careful, okay?”

You don’t know what to say to that. What could you even hazard without risking everything? “Alright,” you whisper. “I’ll be careful.” You pull back against her hand. “That, um… that goes for you too.”

The two of you walk in silence through the park. Letting Ortega pick the path, wondering where she’s going with this. She doesn’t let go of your hand. “So…” You know that tone of voice by now; curious, concerned, but trying not to be too overt about it. “You’re not going to mention it?”

You slow to a stop. “Mention w–what?”

She stops walking. Turns to stare you dead on. “What the hell happened to your eye, Ari?”

You bring your left hand up to your face, feel the thin line running under the sunglasses down your cheek. “Oh.” It’s still sore to the touch, cutting your eyebrow in two.

Ortega purses her lips like she can’t decide whether to laugh or yell. “Yeah ‘oh.’ What happened?”

“It’s fine – it’s nothing.” You shake your head, try to smile. “I was dumb, d–deserved it.”

Ortega’s deepening frown suggests that was maybe the wrong thing to say. “Deserved it? Ari–”

“It’s fine.” You cut her off, willing her to believe you. “Give it some time and – and I’ll just use some concealer like I do with the others.”

She knits her eyebrows together. “Other scars?”

Ah fuck.

You need to distract her away from this. “D–d–don’t give me that.” You huff. “I’m not the one that regularly went back on active duty weeks too early.”

She tenses up, “That’s different.”

“You s–should um, should care a little more about yourself for a change.” You squeeze her hand. She’s not in her twenties anymore. She’s going to get herself killed operating like she does. Hell, it’s a miracle she made it out of her twenties to begin with, and that was with you looking over her shoulder for half of it.

“I guess neither one of us has ever been good at that, huh?”

“N–need to learn sometime.”

Ortega glances at you and you fidget under her gaze. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s fine.”

She reaches up with her free hand to brush your cheek. It’s a test of willpower to let it happen. To not bat her hand away. To not break apart, to not put distance between you. It’s just Ortega. She’s not going to hurt you.

Not in this context anyway.

She still frowns. “You flinched.” Ortega pulls her hand back without touching you.

“That’s–” You swallow, throat going dry. “You d–don’t just… touch someone’s face like that.” Put on your best smile. “I’d have f–flinched either way.”

Slowly she returns your smile. “Sorry. I just,” she laughs, “I like touching you.”

“I’ve noticed.” You struggle to keep your face blank, smile tugging up your cheeks, face feeling a little too warm.

“Sorry.” Ortega frowns, eyes flickering away from you.

“F–for what?”

She takes a breath, as if psyching herself up. “I know you don’t like it. And… I need to be… need to be more attentive to that.”

Oh.

Now it’s your turn to look away.

“I… I w–want to.” Oh god. Are you really talking about this? “It’s just. I don’t – I don’t know myself?” You sound like a crazy person, Ari. None of this is going to make sense to her. “Fighting the Catastrofiend was easier.”

“Ouch!”

Your eyes widen and you turn back to look at her, shaking your head. “Th–th–that’s not what I meant! God. Fuck. Um.”

“Hey, It’s okay.” Ortega laughs at you. Smiling. “We’ll figure it out. Just…”

“Don’t ghost you again.”

“Please.”

“I…” You bite your cheek. This seems too easy. “I should, um. I should make it up to you. Somehow.”

“Well, tonight is a good start.”

“So… Where did you w–want to eat?”

“I was thinking… Hoots?”

“Again?”

“What’s wrong with Hoots?”

“It’s…” You struggle to come up with a reason that doesn’t involve you admitting there’s been one two many emotional breakdowns in the vicinity of that old diner. Shrug and avert your eyes away from Ortega again.

“It’s safe.” Ortega fills in. “Comfortable.” She still won’t let go of your hand, holding tight. Is that your hand that’s getting sweaty or hers? “Owl knows the business, you don’t have to worry as much about prying eyes or ears with her.”

You sigh, it’s hard to argue with that.

“Alright Miss Fussypants,” she grins as she prods you, squeezes your hand in hers. “What’s your suggestion?”

“Uh…”

“Well?”

The truth is, Ortega is right. It’s hard to beat Hoots. Most of the options you can think of are more places Jane would go. Those are… not signals you want to mix. And it doesn’t help what day it is. Just about anywhere you go is going to be a nightmare.

When you don’t respond, she tilts her head to the side, tugs at your hand in hers. “How about you let me cook something for you?”

You can’t help it, you laugh. “Cook something?”

“Or we could cook together? I seem to remember teaching you more than a few things.” She sounds so pleased with herself.

You narrow your eyes, but her smug grin is proving infectious. “You counted on this didn’t you.”

“I plead the fifth.”

You follow Ortega’s lead back to the edge of the park. She gives your hand one more squeeze before finally letting go. “Hey.” She says.

“What?”

“We held hands the whole way around the park. No panic attacks.”

You narrow your eyes at her. Try to be mad. “D–don’t patronize me.” She keeps smiling at you, smug as anything. You can’t keep up your glare, breaking into a smile of your own.

* * *

“Huh.” You pause in the doorframe, caught between stepping forward and falling back.

Ortega glances back at you, already on her way to wash up at the kitchen sink. “What is it?”

“Y–you still live here?”

“What’s wrong with my place?” She laughs, hands under the water. When did she switch her mods off? That’s not a subtle process.

“N–nothing. I’m just… surprised? It’s been a long um, time.” You laugh too, hoping to break the tension as you step inside. Shut the door behind you and the lock clicks shut with an electronic beep. “Even the lady at the door was the um, the same person.”

“Not everything has to change in seven years.” She dries her hands in a towel hanging from the oven handlebar. “You have to have some sort of metric to judge the rest by.”

“I guess so.” You linger by the door, fingering your sunglasses in your hands. Should you sit down at the table? Help Ortega in the kitchen? How does this work again? “What would you have done if I had gone along with Hoots?”

“I’d have figured something out.” Ortega flashes you that smug smile of hers.

Wander past the kitchen table, running a hand over the polished wood. Over one chair you drape your shawl and put down your purse after sticking your sunglasses inside. Easy access in case you need to leave in a hurry. If Ortega notices, she doesn’t comment. There’s the bathroom, bedroom door closed. The bookshelf in the den has some new decorations. Some scattered photographs on the walls. Faces you recognize, a few you don’t.

You need to distract yourself. “Why even suggest going to that dumb bar in the first place?” You call back towards the kitchen.

There’s a laugh, “It’s not dumb!”

“It’s a dive.”

“How about next time I take you on a proper date? Somewhere real fancy.”

Even as you open your mouth you know you’re going to come to regret this. “Okay.”

“Then why are you com–” There’s the sound of something clattering to the kitchen floor, and a muffled curse. “Wait, what?”

Now it’s your turn to smirk as you re-enter the kitchen. “Didn’t expect that?”

“No!” Ortega laughs, “Well, alright then. No take backs now!”

“As long as y–you’re paying.” You cross your arms, nervous energy running through you. So much easier to step off the ledge like this now that you know it’s all doomed to collapse under you anyway.

“A proper lady pays her own way,” she laughs as she opens the fridge. “Beer or Coke?”

“Getting cheap in your old age? And…” Fuck it. “S–sure beer, why not?”

“I’m not old…” Ortega huffs as she tosses you a bottle, “Passing up on soda too? You’re full of surprises today.”

You catch the bottle, “Coke’s bad for you anyway.” You sit down and grab the bottle opener from the table, popping the cap off.

Ortega shuts the fridge door, a beer in her own hand. She arcs an eyebrow, “Hrm, yes, beer is much healthier I suppose.”

“Shut up!” You laugh, toss the bottle opener at her.

She manages to catch it out of the air before it hits her. Damn. “No judgement here.” Her smile is big, goofy looking as she pops her own bottle opon. “You seem happy today.”

“I c–c–can’t be miserable all the time.” You lie, matching her toast and raising your beer. “That’d be exhausting.”

Ortega doesn’t reply at first, merely raises her eyebrows at you while she takes a long drink. “You’d really go out somewhere nice with me?”

You frown. “I said yes. W–what, you don’t believe me?”

“I do! I do! I just,” she laughs, “I figured I’d have to work a little harder warming you up first.”

“Oh, am I t–too easy for you now?” Your smile gains some teeth. “Maybe I should play hard t–to–to get? Drag this out another decade?”

Ortega shakes her head, laughing. “No, no no, this is fine! This is great.”

Take a sip from your beer. “I missed you.” Don’t realize you’ve said it out loud until you see the change in Ortega’s face. The way the swerve has caught her off guard. Got you both off guard.

“I missed you too.” She responds finally, looks you in the eye. Your face feels warm. It must be the alcohol. Better watch that.

“So!” You put your beer down. “You promised dinner?”

Ortega puts her bottle down too. “Right!” She stretches her arms, fingers interlocked above her head. “Do you mind helping? I could use another pair of hands.”

“Just like old times, hrm?” You stand up, pushing your chair back in. “W–what’s on the menu, chef Ortega?”

“Well, chef Becker,” She matches your tone of voice entirely too smoothly. “I was thinking we can’t go wrong with some proper tacos.”

“Tacos? Really?”

“Hey! They are classics.”

“True…” You nod your head, making a show of careful consideration. “I can, uh, see why you need my help.” You walk over to where she stands, leaning on the kitchen counter. “C–clearly a dish beyond your abilities.”

Ortega reaches out an arm as you get near. Shoot her a questioning glance and there’s a soft smile reaching her eyes as she bends you backwards – almost but not quite kissing. “Is this okay?”

Your heart is pounding in your chest. Wordlessly you nod. Grab her arm as she pulls you back up. “What – what was that about?”

“How are you feeling?” She whispers, her arm is still around the small of your back.

“P–p–peachy.” You sputter. She’s so close. Against you. Oh god. Remember – remember to breathe.

She smiles, warm. Or maybe you just feel warm. Face and elsewhere. “Good choice, but it’s the wrong season for peach salsa.”

You laugh, push her away. “You c–can be a real dork.”

“I’m sure we could find a… suitable substitute for peaches.” She grins.

It takes you a moment and then your eyes widen, “Oh my god!?” You spin on your heel away from her. This whole conversation has turned dangerous. “Let’s just–” you voice cracks, “let’s j–j–just make dinner, okay!?”

Behind you, Ortega laughs.

Ortega handles the sauce and meat while you get to cutting up ingredients. It’s a routine summoned out of half-forgotten memory. Just like old times? Hardly. Were you always this hyper-aware of her location in comparison to yours? Every near brushing by? The flash of smiles the two of you trade?

The song you remember, but the words you forget.

There’s a small CD-player tucked into the corner next to the fridge. Ortega prods it on with the opposite end of her wooden spoon. The voice that crackles out of the speaker gives you a start. Put the knife down and glance over her, covering your mouth to muffle your laugh. “Oh my god?”

“What?” She grins back at you.

“I can’t believe you still listen to these guys?” You rock your head with the beat. “Ska was already dead ten years ago, old woman.”

“Excuse me?” Ortega huffs, still smiling. “You were the one that couldn’t stop listening to them.”

You shrug, hands up in the air. “I was young, I d–didn’t know any better yet.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” She raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Like you aren’t still a kid at heart.”

“Watch it y–you, I’ve got the knives.” You turn back to the cutting board, neatly bisecting a bell pepper to underline your point. “Still… I’ll admit that if anyone here has, um, grown up it’s you.” You glance back at her, “Nice mom hair.”

“Hey…” She pats at her hair, “I like my hair. This is fashionable.”

“You already got the plaid down. What’s next? Maybe dye the hair?”

“Hah. Maybe I will!”

She laughs first and then you find yourself laughing too. Slide the diced peppers into a bowl and grab a tomato. “So what happened to the braid?”

The smile fades from Ortega’s face. She stirs the meat on the pan, rather than immediately reply. Suddenly the upbeat tempo of the music feels less appropriate. “I did try.”

“What?”

“I tried to braid it. After… after you were gone.” There’s a hollow laugh as she pushes the meat around with her wooden spoon. “It was awful. I couldn’t do it. And, okay… maybe I was a little drunk. Or… maybe more than a little. And I just…” She sighs, takes a big breath.

Part of you wants to reach out to her, touch her shoulder. You don’t. You stay put across from her.

“I could remember your hands, and how good you were at it. How careful you were. And I…” She shakes her head, turns the heat off. “I couldn’t find any scissors so I just grabbed a knife, out of here, and just… hacked it off. Threw it in the trash.”

You swallow, blink the water out of your eyes. “Julia… I’m sorry.”

That gets a forced, bitter laugh from Ortega. “For what? It wasn’t your fault.”

“No, but…”

“Ah, you should have seen the heart attack the media team went through when I came in the next day.” She makes herself smile, “Dios mío, they had a conniption. Sent me to a hairdresser and forced me to take a leave of absence.” She tilts the pan above a heart-shaped bowl, gently spooning the meat and sauce out. “That’s when I knew my days were numbered.”

“You went back though.”

“That’s true. I did.” She doesn’t elaborate further. Would this be easier if you weren’t on opposite sides? Would it hurt less? You don’t pick the conversation back up, just listen as the next track on the stereo plays. This one you don’t recognize. A trio of women singing in harmony and backed by guitars, a piano. More than a little twee.

As the two of you finish up, waiting for the shells to finish warming in the oven, you lean back against the counter. It’s too comfortable, being back here. Every second you linger here is just going to make the moment when you have to wake up from this fantasy hurt that much worse.

“So, are you going t–to tell her?” You surprise yourself with your own question.

It catches Ortega off guard too. “Tell who?”

“Tía Elena.”

“¡Mierda!” She sucks in her breath, turning away from you as the oven beeps. “You been carrying that one around for a while?”

“You haven’t once t–talked about her.” You dip your head, watching Ortega’s body language as she pulls the shells out. “And she, well she certainly hasn’t insisted on – on seeing me. Is she okay?”

“Mamá is fine.” Ortega hisses under her breath as she closes the oven door. “I’m just… I’m just an idiot who doesn’t know how to tell her.”

“Afraid she’ll ask w–what you won’t? Or that I’ll run?”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Ortega shifts her weight, “You said you had people after you. I didn’t want to risk bringing her into that.”

You frown, guilt welling up. “Th–that’s… I’m sorry.”

“Mierda, you’re fine.” Ortega waves a hand, “Set the table while I finish here?”

You nod, “Okay.” The plates are in the same cabinet they’re always in, like seven years haven’t passed. Different plates though. Everything here is like that. Same but different. You really are a ghost. Haunting Ortega? Or is Ortega haunting you? Hadn’t thought about Elena in years. Any of Ortega’s extended family really. Now it’s threatening to overwhelm you.

You put down Ortega's glass a little too hard and she glances over at you. “Everything okay over there?”

“I’m fine,” you lie, then wince. “Well, o–okay, as f–fine as I ever am.” A beat, and then: “I lost her necklace.”

“Ari?”

“That one she – she uh gave me. For… my birthday? I… I was – was wearing it. That day.”

“Hey… It’s okay.” Ortega lies. “It’s fine.”

It’s not fine. Nothing is fine. You haven’t been fine in a very long time. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Ari. Honest. Hey, come help me with the rest of this?”

You take a breath, hold it, let go. Open your eyes again. “Okay.” You return to the kitchen and take the pair of bowls Ortega hands you to bring to the table. Force a smile on your face. “God, that smells good.” That’s not a lie at least. It really does.

She smiles at you, follows after with more bowls. “It’s been a long time since we did something like this, hasn’t it? I should have invited you over sooner.”

“Hah. In your, um, your dreams, maybe.”

Ortega puts a hand on her chest in mock shock. “How did you know?”

You sit down as she grabs the last of things from the kitchen, shaking your head. “Why d–did you ever bother with me to begin w–with? I’ll never understand.”

She tsks as she sits down, shoving the plate of shells in your direction. “Ari! Just eat.”

“That’s n–not an answer.”

She laughs, “Just eat!”

The two of you take turns with the bowls. Ortega, just as you remembered, carefully constructing ‘perfect’ assemblages. In comparison, your own plate has everything piled together in a crude mess.

Ortega shakes her head as you shovel a forkful down. “Dios mío, you’re still hopeless aren’t you.”

You nod, smile between mouthfuls, “Th–that’s me alright.”

“So? You like it?”

Purse your lips, make a show of thinking it over. “W–well… the salsa’s good.”

You don’t bother hiding your smirk as Ortega laughs, leaning over to punch you lightly in the arm. “You ass! You made that!”

“It’s Tía’s recipe!” You protest, laughing. “You’re always so d–desperate for a pat on the head!”

She punches you again, a little harder. “Only from you, you pendeja!”

“Okay, okay!” You hold up a hand to shield off any further prodding. Still grinning at the indignation on Ortega’s face. “It’s great. Thank you. Really.”

“Thank _you_.” She laughs.

You snort as she bites into a taco and the shell shatters, scattering meat and toppings over her plate. She shoots you a glare as she wipes her hands off on a napkin.

“God,” you exhale out the word and you have to look away from her, back to your own plate. “I–I missed this. I really missed this.”

Ortega’s knee brushes against yours under the table and you look back up at her. She’s smiling, warm, eyes bright. “Me too.”

“I–I–I still can’t believe that we – that you’re – I mean…” You chew your cheek, too many words trying to get out. Catch sight of Ortega’s widening smile and frown at her. “Hey… D–don’t look so smug, you.”

“Me? Smug?” She leans closer to you, “Never.”

You press your lips together, trying not to smile back. “Julia Ortega, you are easily the _smuggest_ person I–I–I have ever known.”

She cracks up, leaning back as she laughs, “You flatter me, thank you.”

As you shovel another forkful into your mouth you can feel your face burning.

As soon as the flow of conversation ebbs you have time to think again. A mistake, as usual. What are you doing here Ariadne? Because you miss her? Really? Because you have feelings for her? Because; impossible of impossible dreams, she has feelings for you? It’s not going to work, you know that right?

You’re not a good person. Julia deserves better. Pursuing this is selfish. More than that, it’s dangerous. All it takes is one word from Lady Argent and any pretension of a civilian life for ‘Ariadne Becker’ is gone for good. You should be casting this away, not clinging to it harder.

And now you’re here. In Ortega’s home. Eating her food. Trading jokes with her, smiles, laughter. You haven’t felt this happy in… you can’t remember.

You push your chair back, grab another bottle sitting out on the kitchen counter as you walk out to the living room. Lean with your elbows against the back of the couch as you stare out the window at the twilight sky. It was around the same time of day when everything went to shit, wasn’t it. You hold the beer with one hand, dig your nails into your arm with the other.

“Don’t think you can get out of dishwashing.” Ortega calls from behind you.

You glance back, trying to smile. “You’ve got a d–dishwasher, I’m not w–worried.”

“Some things are too delicate to go in there.”

You shake your head, look down at the couch. Frown. “Hey… what happened to the old couch? That thing was indestructible.”

Silence, save for the tinny noise of the stereo from the kitchen, then: “Well.. it sort of got blown up, actually.” You turn around, still leaning against the couch. Ortega’s shifted in her seat to look at you, rubbing the back of her neck. “Half of my stuff, really. So… turns out it wasn’t that immortal.”

“Fuck.” You search her face. Want her to be lying just to save your feelings. “What happened?”

“Eh.” She waves at the air, as she gets up. “It was just a warning shot. For poking the wrong bear.” Ortega walks over to the nearest window, starts shutting the blinds.

You frown as you watch her move from window to window. When she gets closer you put your beer down and move over to her, jab her in the arm. “Maybe they set the timer wrong.”

“Hey!” She winces, hand twitching at her side. “We upped security after that. It’s fine.”

“Good. It better be.”

She glances at you, not quite meeting your eyes. “So, you do care about me.”

You frown at that, stepping away. “Of c–course I care, y–you idiot.” Your glare melts as you catch sight of her face. Her expression is soft, wide worried eyes focused squarely on you. She reaches out, grabs your fingers and you freeze. Let her entangle her hand in yours. Warm. Real.

But you’re not.

You’re not real.

Not anymore.

You died.


	35. I’m not changing my mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you ever come clean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Green Eyes] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GTmENEvkp64)   
>  [ [Green Eyes] ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180341/chapters/50416748)

## I’m not changing my mind

Ortega’s voice is low, almost too quiet to hear. “I never… got to tell you. Before.”

A ghost of nausea in the back of your throat. Your fingers twitch in hers. “T–tell me what?”

“I was in love with you.”

Your heart seizes in your chest. You try to say something, but your voice doesn’t work. She’s looking at you. She’s looking at you. “Fuck.” You manage to squeak out.

“I never got to tell you, back then.” She tilts her head, still focused squarely on you. “I waited too long. So… I’m telling you now.”

Are you feeling dizzy? Lightheaded? You are. This isn’t happening. It can’t be. “Why? Don’t – d–d–don’t we – _fuck,_ what – what good is saying it now?”

Ortega steps in closer to you, holding your hand tight as if you might run at any moment. She might not be wrong there. “I want you to know… no,” she shakes her head, “I need you to know. Because I don’t think you do. Not really.”

For a moment you think you might crumple and then Ortega grabs your other arm, holding you up. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know the truth. What you are. What you’ve done. What you’ll continue to do. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.

She can’t.

_She can’t._

“I needed to tell you.” She won’t look away, face inscrutable. What is she thinking? You can’t know. Can never know. “I needed to tell you,” she repeats, “for your sake. As well as mine.”

“Why?” Your grin is frantic, your heart pounding and it’s a struggle to remember to control your breathing. “Y–y–you don’t– don’t know what you’re saying J–julia…” You swallow hard. “That – that wo– that person d–doesn’t exist any–anymore. She’s dead. B–buried. Gone. Y–you buried her.”

Julia shakes her head. “I’m looking right at her.”

You want to cry. This isn’t right. It’s not fair. Why can’t Ortega, of all people, see you for what you really are? A fake. A ghost. A monster. “No you aren’t.” You manage to choke out.

“Okay.”

She doesn’t stop looking at you. Always looking. How can she see you, see this and not be repulsed? If she knew, if she really knew, she would be. Right? Her expression betrays nothing and that damnable static betrays even less than that.

“W–w–what are you–” you swallow hard, holding yourself together through will alone. “What are you – you saying okay to? Do y–you even get it?”

She still doesn’t break eye contact, damn her. Her words are slow and deliberately picked. Her face is too close to yours. “You keep saying… that you’re not who I think you are.” She has no right to sound so confident as she does right now. “That the woman I fell in love with is dead.”

“D–d–don’t – don’t you get it?” You voice cracks. Can barely hear yourself speak.

“I suppose…” She smiles, her self-assurance has to be a front. It has to be. “I fell in love with this new you all over again.”

Every word she says feels like a brand pressed hot against your skin. She thinks she’s being kind, but it’s only going to burn the truth out sooner. Ruin this fantasy world you’ve dreamed yourself into.

“Ariadne…?” She tilts her head, “Are you okay?”

There’s no point in lying. Not now. Not after this. “No.” Try to laugh it off, wipe a hand against your eyes. Ortega pulls you in for a hug and you fall against her. Your vision’s blurring and you can feel your nose running. “¿Me estás tomando el pelo?” This has to be some kind of joke, right? Any moment now she’s going to mess up your hair and rib you hard for falling for it.

Ortega holds you tightly, kissing the top of your forehead. “No, le estory diciendo la verdad.” She runs a hand through your hair, down your back. She strokes your back again, and again, until you stop shaking.

“¿P–pero, por qué?”

“¿Tienes miedo de que te quiera?”

“Yo sí, yo tengo – tengo miedo…” You push away from her. Ortega’s hands slide off you as you step away, hugging yourself now to try and hold yourself up. “Why? Why tell me now?”

Ortega steps after you, stops, puts a hand on the armrest of the couch. “Look… Ari, it feels like…” Her confidence returns for a moment and she flashes you another smile. You wonder if it’s as brittle as it looks. “It feels like everything could fall apart around us at any moment right now.” She sighs, sinks into the couch cushion, still looking straight at you. “I need you to know – to really, truly know that I’d do anything I could to save you.”

“You can’t.” Ortega flinches as you say it. “Haven’t – haven’t you learned that by now? Y–y–you can’t save everybody. And… And–and–and y–you can’t save me.”

“Maybe.” She doesn’t break eye contact with you. “But you’ve met me, right?” There’s a hint of that familiar cocky grin, “I’m going to try.”

“¡Detente!” This was a bad idea. This whole night was a bad idea. What were you thinking? Idiot. Moron. Fool. “¡No sabes lo que estás diciendo!” She thinks she’s got it all figured out, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t get it. Save you? From what? Yourself? What, is she going to wrap you in a blanket and lock you in a padded room? “Y–y–you’re just going to get yourself hurt, Julia.”

She holds out a hand, and you let her pull you down onto the seat next to her. “You keep saying that, but…” You look at her, she smiles. “I got my apartment blown up while you were gone. And that barely ranks among about a dozen other messed up things that have happened. You know?” She squeezes your hand. “Maybe it’s not you, Ari. Maybe I just like living dangerously.”

“Are– are you saying I’m d–dangerous?”

“No, but _you_ keep saying you are. And I’m saying you’re worth it. That any ‘danger’ doesn’t worry me.”

“Fuck.” You shrink into the couch, pull your legs up under you. “It s–should.”

“We need a cheer-up.”

“Hah.”

“Actually…” A smile spreads across Julia’s face as her eyes light up. “I have an idea.” She squeezes your hand again before letting go.

“Oh no?” You watch as she gets back up, first to grab the CD-player and then disappears into her room. “…Ortega…?”

“Hold on!” There’s the sound of something being moved around; a muffled curse in Spanish. “Found it!” She walks back to you in the living room, stopping to clear space on the bookshelf.

A feeling of trepidation churns in the base of your stomach as you watch her run the power cord down to the outlet. “W–what are you… doing Ortega?”

She glances back to you, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Do you remember that first time you came over here with your guitar…?”

Oh no. “It w–was a Bass.”

“Bass guitar, yeah.” Julia holds out a hand towards you, “Entonces, ¿quieres bailar conmigo?”

You sigh and roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your face despite yourself. “Fine, bien entonces.” Anything would be a welcome distraction at this point. From what Ortega said. From how you feel.

You push yourself up and step over to her. “I–I–I’m not singing though. You’re on your own th–there Julia.”

“¡Mierda!” Julia laughs as she takes your hand, “And, I was looking forward to it.”

You shake your head. You shouldn’t be smiling. Not now. Not here. “That show’s been over for a long time.”

“I’ll just have to sing for you then.” She smiles, smug as anything, and sets the player to start before taking your other hand.

You raise your eyebrows. “You’re going to sing? Should I be worried here, Julia?”

“Hey! I can sing.”

You purse your lips, skeptical. “Prove it.”

There’s a light in Julia’s eyes as she takes a breath, waiting for the right beat to start. Gently rocking your hands side to side with hers.

> Could’ve been the way
> 
> the moonlight hit the dashboard,
> 
> passenger window rolled down.
> 
> That got me thinking,
> 
> there’s something we should talk about,
> 
> it’s not worth waiting out.

You blink, “Wait what is this–?” You narrow your eyes at her, and her smile only grows between each word.

> I can give you space if you need it.
> 
> She spins you away, holding on with one hand.
> 
> You can walk away, I’m not leaving.
> 
> There’s pride in my mouth, I got used to the taste;
> 
> But I’ll swallow it now and I’ll be the first to say

Pulls you back towards her, catching you from falling with her free arm.

> Those green eyes are my green light,

You stare at her, face far too warm. “Oh my god. Julia.” She gives you the biggest, smuggest grin, and now the two of you are moving together, following her lead around the room.

> I’m giving up control.
> 
> You see red lights;
> 
> I see me blowing straight through to you.
> 
> If we’re headed for the cliffside,
> 
> I’m ready for the fall, if you know me at all;
> 
> You know I don’t need lights to decide:
> 
> I’m not changing my mind.

“You like it?” She’s so pleased with herself, the smug ass. It’s infectious.

“I plead t–the fifth.” She just grins at you.

> We could both play the pretender,
> 
> circling round this parking lot.
> 
> She spins you out again.
> 
> While one us still remembers,
> 
> we’re lucky to have what we’ve got.

Pulls you back in, landing a peck on your check. Laughs at your surprise.

> We’re taking room for breathing
> 
> You can walk away, I’m not leaving.

Another smug, knowing grin from a face far, far too close to your own.

> There’s pride in your mouth, you got used to the taste;
> 
> Can you swallow it now when you hear me say?

You pull back a little, not enough to break contact but to slow things down a little and – oh that was the wrong choice.

> Those green eyes are my green light,
> 
> I’m giving up control.
> 
> You see red lights;
> 
> I see me blowing straight through to you.
> 
> If we’re headed for the cliffside,
> 
> I’m ready for the fall, if you know me at all;
> 
> You know I don’t need lights to decide:
> 
> I’m not changing my mind.

Slow steps now and she’s looking at you. Only at you. Trusting you’ll keep the two of you from knocking into anything. Fuck.

> Thought I could read you,
> 
> but I lost my place.
> 
> Now we’re on different pages, I need you.
> 
> She squeezes your hand.
> 
> Thought I could read you,
> 
> but I lost my place.
> 
> Now we’re on different pages, I need you.

Pulling closer together again, slowing down. Separate planets moments before impact. One that will destroy you. Or her. Or both. Fuck fuck fuck

> Thought I could read you,
> 
> but I lost my place.
> 
> Now we’re on different pages, I need you.

The music peters out, and Julia’s still there. Standing in front of you, one hand in yours, holding your arm with her own. Smiling, smug as anything, warm. “Well?” She prompts, “See, I can sing just fine.”

You have to take a moment to gather your wits. Find a way out of this conversation. “It w–was… acceptable.”

“Acceptable!?” Julia laughs, and shoves you away. In the background, the next song starts but neither one of you are paying attention now. “Acceptable she says. Get real Ari, you loved it. Estás lleno de mierda…”

You cover your mouth with a hand, avoid looking her in the eyes. “You d–don’t know me.”

“Oh please.” She pokes you in the shoulder. “You don’t have nearly the poker face you think you do, Becker. You were thinking about it the whole time, weren’t you?”

“About what?” Glance at Julia, and she’s standing there, hands on her hips shaking her head at you.

Teeth in her smile. “Doing more than just kissing me?”

That gives you a start. “I–I–I wasn’t!” You shake your head wildly, hair falling in your face. You’ve long given up entertaining the idea of anything along those lines. No matter how–

“Then about how good I look?” Julia leans in towards you, cocky smug grin on her face.

“I–I–I…” You sputter.

“That a yes then?”

“M–maybe.”

“Maybe?” Her face lights up. Too happy. Too pleased. Because of what you said? This isn’t right. You shouldn’t be able to have this kind of effect on her. Ortega was always the one immune to your talents. Caring for you like this is only going to destroy her.

She abandoned you. Or, so you were tricked into believing for seven years. It’s not a feeling easily replaced. You’ve lied to her. Hurt her. Literally hospitalized her, in the name of revenge. It could happen again. It could happen again but worse.

This is everything you had to give up. Everything you lost in order to survive. What you couldn’t have. Can’t ever have. You’re not human, and you never can be. You can’t just… quit, can you? No. The Directive always comes after its wayward toys eventually. You’ll pay for every second you’ve stolen here.

“Ariadne?” It takes you a moment to realize Julia’s holding you up.

“I just… I need to sit down.”

“I’ll say, you looked like you were about to faint.”

Roll your eyes, slide back against the couch cushions. “You… you d–don’t look that good, Sparkles.”

Her smile returns, though subdued as she sits down beside you. “You’re pale as a sheet, are you sure you’re okay?”

An argument breaks out between a man and woman on the street outside and you have to shake your head. Try to jar their thoughts out of your mind. What the hell happened to your usual shields? You close your eyes. “N–n–no. I’m – I’m not. P–please just.. hold me?”

There’s a pause. Silence. Surprise? Then: “Of course.” Julia shifts position on the couch, moving towards you to wrap an arm around your shoulders. You slump over against her chest, focus on the thump of her heartbeat, her arms pulling you against her. Like she’s afraid you’ll run away. Or fall. Not unfounded fears.

You don’t fix broken tools. You throw them away and get a new one. Why doesn’t she get it? You thought she did, but… that was mistaken, obviously. She thinks she can protect you? Keep you safe? That’s impossible. You’ll never be safe. Not from the Directive, not from her, not from yourself.

“Hey…?” A hand rubs your shoulder. “Hey… Ari, are you crying?”

Oh.

Are you?

Fuck.

You push her away, push back out of her embrace. Turn your head so she can’t see your face, let your hair fall over your eyes. This is too much. She doesn’t want this. You’re dragging the night down again. Can never just be happy, can you chickadee?

Julia slides down onto the floor, moving between your legs, trying to look at your face. You shrink back into the couch. You’d rather be back in the Casino Auction Hall, facing down the Catastrofiend right now. Without your armor. That would be less terrifying than this moment. “Ari… please? Please just look at me.” She takes your hands in hers, rubbing her thumbs over the back of your palms. “It’s going to be okay, alright?”

You force yourself to look at her. On her knees she’s just below eye-level with you on the couch. There’s grey in her hair now. More scars. Age lines. Lost time.

“It will, okay?” She squeezes your hands.

You shake your head. Try to speak and no words come forth.

“Just… breath, yeah?”

You swallow. Will your chest to stop heaving.

“You know…” Her voice drops into a whisper. “I wasted too much time. I treated relationships like they were disposable.”

“I can remember…”

Julia winces. “After you almost died that first time… that stupid stunt against Psychopathor and I had to beg you to stay…”

You can’t look at her. “W–was that when – when you realized?”

“Maybe. I knew you were… different? – No, important. I needed you around.”

Your throat is tight enough to hurt as you speak. “Y–y–you should have told me.”

“Would it have changed anything? I was still riding the media attention and you… you were so scared of anything remotely in that direction. I was… afraid. I couldn’t risk it. So I just tried to ignore it.”

“Settle for b–being friends.”

“Yeah.” Julia sighs. “Don’t you think we’ve lost enough time already?”

“It’s not like w–we can get it back.” Seven years dead. Five them of them in hell. Now you’re what? Not dead, fine. But you’re definitely not alive either.

“You’re right, we can’t…” Julia agrees, “But… we can still make up for it, don’t you think?” She’s smiling up at you now and oh no. She can’t really be implying what you think she is, right? Fuck. Fucking hell. Shit.

If she catches onto your inner panic she at least has the grace to ignore it. There’s a smile on her face again as she talks. “Are... you interested in doing more than just making out…?”

“W–what?” You voice squeaks out, high-pitched.

Ortega creases her brow. “It’s okay. If – if it’s ‘no.’ I’m… I really don’t want to screw this up again Ari. I mean it.”

You suck in your breath. Just because you gave up on that part of life doesn’t mean you could just… turn that part of you off. You may not be human, but this ill-fitting body you’re trapped in sure is.

Catch her eyes looking at you again, give her a long hard stare. This is all her fault. For caring about you. For not giving up when any reasonable person should have. “D–d–don’t make me regret this, Julia.”

It’s her fault. This is all her fault. Couldn’t have just left you for dead like she was supposed to. Had to keep digging up that grave, turning that soil. You kiss Julia hard, so you can’t say anything else stupid. Think anything else stupid.

Just her. Always her.

She breaks the kiss, a breathless smile, to get back beside you on the couch. Pulling you into her gravity again. There’s a frantic energy in you, a freedom to act that calls to mind other times; that freedom between deciding to end it and coming to your senses. That feeling that you can do anything, because what will it matter in the long run?

Face flush on fire, or maybe that’s the whole of you. An ember in Julia’s lap. If you burn her, it’s not your fault. You warned her. A wordless plea you mouth into her lips, hands in her hair. There’s no happy ending possible here, only free-fall.

“Damn,” Julia breaks for breath.

You narrow your eyes at her, “D–d–don’t fucking say it.”

Kiss her again to shut her up. Or you. Or both. Stave off the ground a second longer. She holds you tight. The moment you break again, she shoots you a glance, “So…?”

Memories of asphalt in the alley. You can thread this needle right? “Clothes st–stay on.” Stare down at her, make her know you mean it.

“Okay.”

“Okay? J–just like that?”

“We still have options.”

You tighten your gaze into a glare.

“Hey!” She laughs, “What kind of a person do you take me for, Ari?” Hand up your neck, and she pulls you down and in and – it doesn’t matter what you want, you can’t have it. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Damnit. There’s an undignified whine that couldn't possibly have come from you.

You pull away, pull away from Julia and her hands on you, hands running down your pants before they can feel anything anything amiss, anything wrong.

“…hey?” Ortega’s voice is small, confused. Why wouldn’t she be, this is the second time now, no explanation.

She’ll find out. She’s going to find out.

Unless you leave. Now. Better dreaming of could-have-beens than a reality where she sees you for what you are. There’s your purse. Shawl. Pull the cloth tight around the shoulders. The more layers between you and her the safer. Now, just where did you put your shoes? You move away from her, look around the room. Don’t even remember taking them off. Old habits taking over, autopilot is a dangerous foe.

Julia follows you, behind, not blocking. “Ari?”

You hold up a hand, are you shaking? Or is it just your vision that’s blurring? “I j–j–just need to – need to find my shoes. Sorry. Sorry.” Focus on the floor, by the front door maybe? “I’ll get out–out of your hair, sorry. W–won’t bother you again, I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t?” Almost touches you, doesn’t, holds back. Where are your damn shoes? “This is just like before, I’m an idiot, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed things. I got the wrong message–”

You feel like you could be sick right here. Just projectile vomit all over Julia’s kitchen table. You shake your head. “N–n-not wrong – not the wrong message.” Julia's shoes. What size is she? Could you take those?

Julia steps towards you, frustrated? Upset? Your fault. “Please, Ari? Just come back to the living room, okay? Just… just talk to me.” If you stole her shoes she’d be upset. They’re nice shoes.

You’re frozen to the floor. Can’t decide what to do. How to act. Who are you? Who are you right now at this moment? Just the pounding of your heart, and the too-shallow breaths of your chest.

You let her guide you back to the living room. Julia sits back down on the couch. That’s too close. Too intimate. Dangerous. Take the single-seat at an angle. Something you can curl into, knees to your chest. It’d be an easy run to the balcony door or the front, depending on how bold you’re feeling. Multiple escape options are always advised.

“Ari, please, just talk to me.”

Watch your knuckles whiten as you grip into your legs. Bury your head in your knees rather than have to see the worry on Julia’s face. She really doesn’t know. Hours of practice with Dr. Finch are suddenly gone. Out of your head like empty pages. “I… I d–d–don’t know how…” You shake your head, pressing yourself tighter together.

“Okay… well, that’s not news.” Her voice is brittle.

“I–I–I d–don’t even understand…” You suck in your breath. You’re not crying. That’s not what’s happening right now. It’s just… difficulty breathing that’s all, nothing more. “W–why do you even – why bother w–with me?”

There’s silence, just long enough to get you to lift your head up to look across the room at her. A pained expression on her face, lips half-parted in words that aren’t coming.

“L–look, I’m– I’m not who y–you think I am, J–julia.”

On the ledge again. Julia shuts her mouth. Doesn’t say anything. Expression as unreadable as her mind. Does she know? Has she known this whole time? You should just lay it all out now. Head on the chopping block. Hand her the axe. It’s what she deserves for daring to care about you. Truth is a weedkiller. Indiscriminate.

But Argent is right. You’re a coward at heart. There’s always the flinch before impact. You can’t do it. Can’t say the words and face her.

But you have to say something.

“Ari…?” Julia’s voice. Worried. Uncertain. Look back up, her face is still unreadable.

Have to confess to something. Some small truth to pull out of the jenga puzzle of lies you’ve imprisoned yourself in. Just pray it doesn’t all come tumbling down. Sentinel and Anathema were both transgender. She’d be okay with that right? Wouldn’t… see you as less than human for that, right?

But then again, it’s different when it’s just a coworker.

You open your mouth and the words don’t come. You can’t do it. Can’t say it. Squeeze your eyes tight in a groan of frustration.”I–I don’t – I c–can’t say it. I can’t.” Your voice hurts, pitched too high. Try a different tactic – when a frontal attack isn’t possible, go for the sides. “Do–do–do you know what, um, w–what tucking is?”

“Tucking?” She doesn’t – doesn’t get it. Fuck. Her face is still a blank.

You swallow the bile down, force yourself to not look away. “Okay, uh – a–around the… the, um – the time we first met, I had well, I uh, I had just started on hormones.”

“Hormones…?” She tilts her head Then slowly understanding dawns and you bury your head in your knees again. You can’t look. Can’t face the disgust. “Oh.” Julia’s voice is coming from a million miles away. “So that means you’re…”

“S–surprise.” If you could collapse into a black hole right now, you’d do it.


	36. you and me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.
> 
> Tw: past sexual abuse | cw: physical intimacy 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Dim the Lights] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-plAGCxBMo)
> 
> [ [Green Eyes] ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180341/chapters/50416748)

##  you and me

The longer the silence lasts the sicker you feel.

Listen to the creak of the couch as Julia stands up. And this is it. It’s over. Not human, not a woman, not a good person. This isn’t something you can have. Ever.

There’s the sound of her knees hitting the floor in front of you and you wince. She’s really going to let you have it face-to-face then, huh. Well, can’t say you don’t deserve it. Liar. Deceiver. Her fingers brush against yours, gently prying. You don’t resist as she takes hold of them. How long does it take to re-active the emitters again? Maybe she’ll just kill you now. It’d be easier than this.

Her hands are so warm.

“Hey…”

What is there to say? This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg of life-ruining revelations about you and it’s already over. You feel nauseous. Light-headed. Dizzy? Can’t focus, can’t think. All the little niggling voices of people living their lives clawing at the edges of your awareness.

Julia pulls at your hands and… hiccups? No, that’s– she throws herself at you in a hard embrace. Catch a glimpse of her face and then it’s gone, against your shoulder as she presses tight against you. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, not letting go. “I’m an idiot. A jerk and– and…” Words barely audible descend into mumbled Spanish intermixed with English.

What on earth is happening? Julia has never fallen apart like this.

“¿T–te encuentras bien? ¿Qué… uh, happen – ocurre?” Try to pull her apart from you, to unfold your legs from being crushed against your chest, to see her face; the only way you can hope to read her. “Julia, w–what’s wrong?”

“Nada.” She lets you pry her away. Her face is wet, but she’s smiling. Relieved, relaxed? This isn’t a range of expression you have much experience seeing from Julia. “No tiene nada de malo.”

A lie, but you don’t have the courage to call her on it. “So… so w–what now?”

Julia meets your eyes, still smiling. “I… had no idea.”

“A–apparently not.”

“But it doesn’t change anything.” She shakes her head, mouth dipping into a quick frown as she thinks. “You’re Ariadne Becker. You’re a woman.”

“A–am I though…”

“Trust me Ari,” there’s a strange look in her eye. “I’ve dealt with plenty of men. You’re a woman.”

You frown. “What – what does that mean.”

Julia just smiles. “This does explain… a lot of things that I’d been wondering about, if I’m honest? You’re starting to make a little more sense to me.”

This doesn’t feel real. You shake your head, “Th–that can’t be good.” Are… you smiling too?

“Hey!” She tugs at your hand. “You can still be a puzzle.” A meaningful raise of the eyebrow as she looks up to you from the floor. “I just have a few more pieces in the right place. Like why you always cover up, even in the summer. Or that week you stayed over and thought you were being sneaky by only showering when you thought I was asleep, or–”

“Alright! Alright already!” You can’t stop the laugh. “I get it.” The smile fades from your face fast. “I d–don’t–” You wince, take a breath and avoid her eyes. “I hate th–this body.”

“Ari…”

“I–I don’t like people look– looking at it.” Orange lines in circuit patterns. Poisoned markers. A fate you can’t escape, only forestall. The regenerator might change that. But not fast enough. Not tonight. And it can’t fix everything. It can’t fix bones, organs, the whole of you really.

“Then I won’t.” There’s a conviction in her voice that catches you off guard. “Not until you want me to. I won’t judge you, okay?”

Shake your head. “Th–that’s not something you can promise.”

“Hey, believe me, I make dumb promises all the time, right?” She dips her head, trying to catch your field of vision, a bright smile on her face. “And I do my best to keep them.”

“Julia…” Can’t bring yourself to anything more. It’s too tempting to let the rest out. Let her know exactly what kind of monster she’s smiling at. That would fix her. That would serve her right for caring about you.

You should.

You can’t.

She’ll stop smiling at you. And you – you don’t want her to stop.

To go.

To leave you.

Julia’s quiet voice breaks the silence. “Thank you. For trusting me enough to tell me.” She doesn’t know what kind of knife she’s just stabbed you with.

“W–w–well… it was that or– or running, so…” You shrug. More like throwing yourself out the window.

“I don’t think so.” Her voice brightens up, “I’m faster than you.”

You find her eyes, breathe a sigh of relief. “You s–sure about that, old lady?”

She scrunches up her face. “I’ll take you up on that.”

“Hah.” By any reasonable metric you should have fled the scene thrice over already. But you’re still here. She’s still here. “So…” You squeeze her hands tight to stop your own from shaking. “I–I–I guess that ruined the mood, huh.”

“No, no.” Julia shakes her head. “Won’t lie… a little surprised but…” She laughs. “I have more experience with those… uh, bits, anyway.”

You groan. “Y–you’re t–terrible.”

“You like it, don’t lie.” She works her right hand free, using it to brush the hair away from your face. “So…” Her smile gains teeth “Are we going back to the couch then?”

Jumped over the edge and you still haven’t hit the ground somehow. Is this really happening? It can’t be. Good things don’t happen to something like you. There might never be another chance like this. To have Julia look at you again like you matter. She wants more and you…

“If…” You take a breath, “if y–you promise to turn out the lights… uh, the–the bed?” Oh god. Did you really say that?

Julia blinks, then laughs. Shock blooming into an utterly terrifying expression of delight. Oh no. Getting to her feet and pulling you up with her. Oh god. Oh god. “Come on then, Ari!”

Oh god. What the fuck. Why did you say that. What the fuck were you thinking. Holy shit. Fuck. Julia drags you along behind her, not that it’s a long walk. It’d be even shorter if the two of you hadn’t stopped to kiss in the hallway. Her hands on you are still terrifying but she keeps them over your shirt.

At the moment all that seems to matter is that you want this. Want her. Want her to want you. More than anything. Consequences? Distant concerns eating dust in the rear-view mirror, feeling further away all the time.

Julia is here right now in front of you. Fuck future Ari, she’s a joyless bitch. Julia’s right here needing you to kiss her, even if it means lifting up the back of your heels to reach right, Your tongue against hers – fuck. Her hand on your chest, groping at your breast – damn, touching yourself never felt like this.

Break the kiss and Julia looks at you in wonder. Is she feeling as breathless as you? “Mierda, you were saving that one.”

“S–shut up.” Laugh, put a hand between the two of you, gently creating some space. You haven’t taken complete leave of your senses. Just most of them. Panic attacks have trained you well. “Th–there’s gotta– gotta be some ground rules.”

“Okay.” She stays quiet, waiting for you to continue. Dazed smile, like she can’t believe her luck. Like she can’t believe this is really happening either.

“I–I’m serious.”

“Okay.” Slightly more worried now.

“N–no lights. Nada. I mean it. Pi–pitch black.”

Don’t want her to see it. Don’t want to see it yourself either.

“But–”

You put a finger to her lips to shush her. “Th–that’s the rule. ¿Comprendes?” You swallow hard, drop your hand before she can do something lewd to your finger. Are you still shaking? You feel way too warm. Sweating like nobody’s business. “You– you can um, you can… can – t–t–touch me b–b–but you– um – you c–can’t– you can’t see me.” This is absurd, you know that. There’s no reason she should agree to go along with something like that.

“Okay.”

“W–what? You’re okay with – with that?”

“I’ve got _really_ good blinds in the bedroom, remember?”

“N–no, I mean–”

“Ari, I want you to be comfortable.” There’s an urgency in her words, she needs you to believe her. “This is supposed to be fun.”

“F–fun.” You echo back. Then you crack, breakdown into a fit of anxious giggles. Julia grabs you before you can fall, a worried look you wave off. “I’m fine – I’m f–fine. This is f–fine. We’re f–fine. Oh my god.” Try to pull yourself together, keep the smile from hurting your face. “B–bed it is then.”

You keep waiting for the panic to set in and it keeps not happening.

Julia takes you by hand, more gently this time, into her bedroom. It’s a little unsettling stepping inside again for the first time in seven years. The similarities make the differences stand out all the more. New and different books on the shelves, is that a new dresser? The mirror is as dirty as ever so maybe not. Catch sight of yourself in it, and that’s… you don’t know what she sees in you. Literally right now in this moment, can’t even read your own face, red under foundation and concealer, streaked with short black lines from running down from your eyes. So you were crying then. Embarrassing. An angry red line stitched together that runs over one puffy eye. Hair’s a mess too, tried to comb it today, lost that fight pretty quick.

At the bed-stand there’s a picture frame; in the old days if whatever guy she was dating made it past the three-month mark, they’d get their picture placed there in the spot of honor. There’s a photo of you and her there now, young still, and in uniform. It’s a low-res picture, grainy and pixelated. From an old press conference broadcast? That’s weird. Huh.

You close the door while Julia sets about drawing the blinds shut. Hands behind your back, lingering on the doorknob. What are you supposed to do right now? It’s an act of will to stay put, to not run. Fighting crazed gunmen, mad scientific experiments, pompous gangsters, and of that would be less terrifying right now. You’ve had a lifetime of acclimation to it. But this? What the hell are you doing here?

Julia looks back at you and she looks like the cat that caught the canary. With the door shut you probably can’t escape if you decide to run. But like hell are you going to leave the door open either. Fuck.

Trapped.

Trapped again.

You’re – you’re

No! This is Ortega’s apartment. Not there. You’re fine. This is fine. The walls are a different shade of white, the floor is littered with dirty clothes, empty boxes, towels, all matter of detris. It’s fine. You’re fine. Everything – everything is fine. Not panicking. Don’t panic. You bite your lip, try not to laugh at yourself.

She walks back towards you, exaggerating the sway of her hips. She’s trying so hard to act cool or sexy or something, but the twitch of her fingers gives it away and you start cracking up again. She stops, hands on hips, “Hey! What’s so funny?”

“N–n–nothing! It’s fine! It’s fine!” You cover your mouth, try to stand up straight.

“Well alright, funnygirl,” She steps into your space, brushing your hair back and the urge to giggle freezes. “Do you want me to take my clothes off before or after it gets dark?”

“…w–what?”

Julia drops into a whisper, “My clothes, silly. Did you want to see first?”

If you weren’t blushing before you are now. Can feel the heat all the way up to your ears. “Y–y–you really want to– want to show off that b–bad huh?”

“Before, or after, Ari?”

You chew your lip, you’re going to melt if she keeps looking at you like that. “W–w–well, um, it d–doesn’t– well it doesn’t seem fair, really– I mean sin–since I’m not, but– but you are and–”

“For the love of God, Ari, it’s okay.”

Try to smile, try to relax. “I–I don’t think I want him involved in this.”

That gets a sharp ‘hah’ out of Julia. She steps back, letting her arms fall to her sides. “I’m just going to start getting undressed, then. You turn the lights off whenever you feel like it. Okay?”

You bob your head up and down. Easier than talking right now. Julia smiles, all teeth and wicked intent and damn her she’s getting a kick out of this, isn’t she? She makes a show of it. Shirt, undershirt, nothing you haven’t seen before – years ago. Though you always tried to avoid it. Julia’s never had much compunction about walking around half dressed.

Did she know, back then, how much it made you sweat? Well, if she didn’t before she does now. Smile under hooded eyes and… that is a very lacy bra she’s wearing. Is that really everyday wear for her? Or did she…? But that would mean… oh god.

She moves her arms behind her back and the connection ports that run down her arms are plainly visible in the little circles of just-off skin tone. Less obvious maybe than in the old days but living skin still changes in ways the synthetic stuff can’t replicate, and –

Oh, she’s taking her bra off, that’s what she’s doing. Lets it fall to the floor. She looks back up at you, smug as hell. How can she be so confident standing there like that? If anything, the expression on her face only intensifies on locking eyes with you. “Like what you see over there?”

“S–shut up!” You step back against the wall, frantically feeling for the light switch. And oh god, where is it, where is it – there! A click and the room goes pitch black.


	37. your singing means the world to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ve never done anything more terrifying in your life.
> 
> Tw: past sexual abuse; self-harm | cw: physical intimacy 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [The Thunder Answered Back] ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6sfLJLZwnQA)
> 
> [ [Green Eyes] ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180341/chapters/50416748)

##  your singing means the world to me

“H–hey!” A flustered laugh from in front of you.

“It– It got d–dark.”

“That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Y–yeah. I’m just– _it’s really dark_.” You exhale. “That – that’s good.”

Julia laughs. Hands in front of you, you take a cautious step forward. Between her laugh and the static of her mind locating her in the abyss is a matter of a few terror-filled steps. Your hand brushes skin and you instinctively pull back.

She laughs again, “Hi there.” Hands find your shoulders, run down your arms. “Come here often?”

“Idiot.” You break down into giggles again. It’s dark. You can’t even see. Nothing but sound and touch and –

“So…” She steps closer towards you, “You want to help me with the rest of this?”

“I…” You let her guide your hands to her belt. The buckle’s already undone, you just have to… pull it loose. Your hands return to the top of her jeans and you freeze up. Lightheaded.

“You okay?”

“N–no. I don’t–“ You shake your head, not that she can see the movement. “I d–don’t know – I don’t know. No sé qué hacer.”

“You know…” Her hands find yours again, gently touch your wrists. “I think this could be the most Spanish I’ve ever heard you say in one day.”

“I don’t know…” You fight back another fit of giggles. «Parlez-vous français? Parli italiano?» You bite your lip. »Spirchst d–du deutsch?«

“All right, I get it.”

“An labhraíonn tú Gaeilge?”

“Okay, okay!” Julia laughs, and you break into giggles again. “I get it. You’re very impressive.” She tugs at your hands. “Show-off.”

“Sorry.” Your face is starting to hurt from grinning so much.

She puts your hands back on her jeans. “Feel any better now?”

“Mm.”

Under Julia’s guidance you slowly bring your hands to the front of her jeans. It takes some fumbling to find and unfasten the button, zipper, tug the denim down her hips. Brush the fabric of her underwear. There’s the tiniest hitch in her breathing at the touch of your fingers. Swallow down your anxiety and help her pull those down too.

Julia steps towards you and out of her clothes as she shakes the last pant leg off, a hand on your shoulder for balance. “Well, that didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it might.” She says, voice light, teasing you maybe.

You hiss in response, find her arm, by blind groping in the dark. Try to kiss her and catch her chin first, then her nose. “Ugh, you’re too tall.”

“Excuse me?” comes the bemused reply. “Maybe someone should have eaten their broccoli as a kid.”

The dark hides the grimace on your face. Laugh it off instead, lightly push her away. “Ass!”

“Very fine, thank you for asking.”

“God, you’re – you’re insufferable.” Shake your head, giggling.

She laughs with you. “As insufferable as wearing sunglasses indoors?”

You gasp, shove her backwards again.

“Ouch! Hey, found the bed.”

“Good.” You push her again, then cry out in surprise as she grabs your arm, taking you down with her.

“Hah!” Julia cackles as you scramble back to a sitting position. “Told you I was ready for the fall.”

“Oh my god?” You clap a hand to your mouth. “You f–f–fucking doofus.” You pat the bed around you, find her leg. Bare. There’s the crest of a scar just above the knee. “S–s–so, now what?”

“Well…” Julia’s hands find yours. “You’re still dressed.”

“Oh.” You say.

“Oh yeah.” You add.

“That’s um. That–that–that’s expected. Is–isn’t it.” You append.

“Do you want to stop?” Ortega pulls back from you, still holding your hand.

“I…”

“We can stop whenever you’re not feeling comfortable.”

You bite your lip and shake your head. Remember she can’t see it and start giggling again instead.

“So is that a yes or a no on stopping?”

“No. I – I mean yes? I mean. I–I–I want to – to keep going.”

She rubs the top of your hand. “Do you want me to help you out, or…?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Th–that–that might be… might be best.”

“We don’t have to do anything, you know.”

“I know…” You exhale, breath in deep again. “B–b–but I… I want to. I’m just…”

“Sé que tienes miedo.”

“Sí, me temo.” You lean towards her. “So… h–help me out? I’ve n–never done… uh – anything like this. E–ever.”

Not like this. Not with a choice.

There’s a moment of hesitation from Julia, then a breathless “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I… I mean, I guess it should have been obvious, I just… didn’t put it together.”

“D–don’t freeze up on me n–now!” Your laughter has an anxious tint to it. “I–I’m c–counting on – on you for this.”

“Yeah, well… no pressure.”

“My hero.” Did you mean to be sarcastic or sincere? You’re not even sure.

“Alright, well…” Julia’s hands find your shawl again, gently push it back off your shoulders. You manage the presence of mind to lift your arms to let her take your shirt off. “Wait…” She pauses.

“Y–yeah, I’ve got two shirts on. What of it?”

“It was seventy-seven degrees out today.”

“I– I didn’t say it was comfortable.”

Julia snorts and you laugh, lift your arms as she pulls that shirt off too. Try to gauge which way she’s tossing your clothes, but it’s pointless. Besides, there’s more pressing matters demanding your attention. Like the fingers pressing into your bare skin. “Uh–” you breathe out. “H–h–h–hi.”

“Hi yourself.” A beat, then: “You holding up okay?”

“F–f–fine.” It feels like your heart could bust through your ribcage. “Y–you?”

“Very well,” She laughs, “Thank you for asking.” Her hands find the back of your bra, her lips brushing your ear. “We good?”

Suck in your breath. “Y–yeah.” Julia undoes the clasp with a disturbing ease and your fingers dig into the bare skin of her leg as your breasts are exposed to the open air. “It’s – It’s a little c–c–cold, isn’t it?”

“I guess we’ll have to huddle together for warmth.”

“S–sounds like a d–drag.”

“Mm-hm. It’s a real chore.”

You have to let her lay you back on the bed for her to pull your pants off. There’s a level of vulnerability to it that you hadn’t anticipated. In trusting Julia. Utterly terrifying. Or maybe exciting? It’s both. She’s practically on top of you now. Skin touching skin. Can feel her breath on your collarbone.

Your breath catches in your throat as she brushes against you down there. Moment of vertigo. The panic doesn’t come. It’s just – it’s just Julia. Just Julia.

Julia’s hands return to your hips, tracing the crest of bone just under the skin, covered by your underwear. Your own scars aren’t anywhere near as pretty as hers. Jagged, emergency hack jobs, teaching yourself as you went. Amazingly lucky nothing ever got infected. “You still good?”

Your heart catches in your throat as her fingers tease the elastic. Get rid of that and you’ll be – she’ll touch – You close your eyes, try to fight off the sudden rush of nausea. “W–wait.”

Her hands vanish from your hips. “What’s wrong?”

“C–c–can we… can we wait on – wait on that? D–down there?” You open your eyes again, for what little difference that makes. Another bubble of nervous giggles you try to swallow down.

“Are you okay?” Her response is careful. Always so quick to worry.

“It’s just – this is a lot al–already.” More giggling. “I–I’m sorry. I w–want to… I just…”

“You’re fine, Ari.” Hands ghost your skin, find your face, fingers mix with your hair. “Thank you for telling me.” She listened. She listened and you could cry right now.

“B–but…” You groan, not hiding your frustration with yourself. “N–now w–what do we do?”

She laughs, “Well, you know…” Julia lands a peck awkwardly on your cheek. “You’re allowed to touch me too. If you want to.”

“Oh.” You chew the inside of your cheek. “O–okay.” Find her side, run your hand along her stomach. It’s a little unnerving how many little faded scars you can find, how many of them you can guess at the cause. A huge one stretching across, that one has to be from the Catastrofiend. Memory of that night flashes through your head. Julia’s bloody form cradled in Sunstone’s arms.

You exhale, “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

That gets a confused chuckle. “Yeah? Me too.”

Your hand traces upwards, finds her breast. The change in her breathing as you touch her. You’re not really sure what to do, so you settle for softly running your fingers over her skin, focus on building a sense of her in your head, the shape of her breasts, how they taper to a point – one that, as you touch, you can hear the sharp intake of breath. “A–are you o–okay?”

“You know…” Julia’s voice is warm, “I never expected you’d be such a soft touch.”

You can feel your face burn. “What does that mean!?”

“Come on,” She laughs. “You were – Sidestep was always so gung-ho. I’m just… surprised is all. Remember how I used to have to – Ooow!”

You let go of her nipple. “W–what was that about – about a soft touch?”

“Why you–” She laughs, shifts on the bed, trying to grab you. “I’ll get you back for that.” You cackle, one arm guarding your breasts while you try fend off her hand.

Only, that proves to be a mistake. She catches your arm, half up to the elbow. The part you make sure to always keep covered. Tattoos aren’t the only thing you have to hide. She holds you, not hard, but – firmer than you’d like. Thumbing the lines, up and up and up. “Ari?”

“I’m sorry.” No point denying it.

“You’re…?” Bewilderment. “ _You’re_ sorry?”

“Y–you’re upset. I’m sorry.”

“Then stop doing it.”

“I – I’m trying.”

“Like… how long have you been…? When we were–”

“Y–yeah.”

“And while you were… away?”

“Th–then t–too.”

“Damnit Ari.”

“I’m sor–” The air is crushed out of your lungs in a hug. Someone sobs. Is… Julia crying? Or.. no, that’s you. You’re crying. Again.

“I love you, you know that?”

What are you supposed to say, to something like that? This is so far beyond anything you had ever been trained for. But here’s Julia Ortega, holding you. Each new terrible revelation only makes her cling tighter. You don’t understand it.

“You hear me?” Julia presses.

This is so off spec it’s absurd. There is no possible response. Except to try not to embarrass yourself as tears wash out what’s left of your make-up.

“So start taking care of yourself already.”

“I’m s–sorry.” You whisper into the room. It’s so dark in here, thank god. Shapes and colors reduced to the faintest suggestions in the imagination. Shadows cast against the wall from somewhere else. “I’m so sorry.”

Her arms shift, pulling you closer against her. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” The words hit your chest like an ice dagger. Will you ever do something so evil as to match this? Laying in Julia’s arms, in Julia’s bed? “Hey,” she squeezes you, “Hey, I thought we already cried ourselves out?”

You run your hand over her arm, up her shoulder, letting your fingertips pull at her skin. “I’m sorry we couldn’t…” go farther, you want to say, but don’t. Go all the way, you want to say, but won’t.

A hand rubs your cheek, “Oh, I think we did just fine,” Julia’s voice is light and genuine, bringing a memory of hands on skin. You want to believe her, that this wasn’t a disappointment. “Next time we’ll both be more prepared. Now that we know what we’re working with,” her voice purrs and you feel a shiver run down your back. There is going to be a next time, then. Maybe even a third, if you’re lucky. If everything doesn’t come crashing down around you before then. You’ve stepped over the event horizon; no one but yourself threw you out of this window.

“Alright th–then, I’d… I’d like that,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome?” comes Julia’s bemused reply.

What’s one more fall, at this point?

“I w–was so lost,” you say suddenly, surprising yourself, “w–without you, or Anathema, Sentinel, Sunstream… all the– all the rest… even Steel, I guess.”

“‘Even Steel,’ huh?” Julia asks, mirroring your fingers tracing her back, with her tracing yours.

“Every family needs th–that stick-in-the-mud.” Neither of you laugh. “You all made me feel like– like I was– like I was a real person?” You choke, teetering on the edge of truth. “H–human?”

“Well, of course you’re human Ari,” Julia retorts, her ignorance another stab of pain to your heart. After a second, her voice soft again, she adds, “you were my best friend, too.”

You shift position so you can kiss her, it takes a trial run in the dark, tasting salt, before you find her lips. It doesn’t last long enough.

“Y–you were all such… ex–extraordinary, amazing people. You made me w–want to be special too. To–to–to do something more with this… power I had then pe–petty theft or…” You don’t have the courage to finish that sentence, instead weaving your legs between Julia’s, a hug of knees. “And I– I wanted you to – to notice me. To… really see me, like how I saw you.”

“Ari…” Julia laughs, but it has a bitter edge to it. “How did neither one of us ever say anything?”

“No lo sé.” You lie.

“Yo tampoco lo sé.” She lies back.

“And th–then…” You pull yourself as close as you can, until your ear is pressing against her chest, until you can hear her heartbeat. “They uh, they took me away.” Your voice strains, it’s like the words themselves hurt your throat. “They – they took me away and n–no one ever… no one ever came to get me. You n–never came.”

“Ari…” Julia’s voice is pained as she wraps her arms around your back.

“I–I–I thought you all had… had thrown me away. So I told myself I h–hated you too.”

You can feel the stray electric charge from Julia’s mods raising the hairs on the back of your neck. “If I had known, Ari, I swear–“

You cut her off. “So I d–did what I… what I needed to do. To–to survive. Just like before. W–whatever it took. What–whatever it cost.” You dig your nails into Julia’s back, one finger tracing a too-familiar pattern from memory. “Then one day, I… I got lucky. They messed up and I–I–I got out again. But… some years had passed and – and everything had changed. _I_ had changed.”

“Ari… please, who _are_ these people? Who did this?” It’s a plea. An honest one. But she doesn’t know what she’s asking.

You suck in your breath, feel the familiar static of Julia’s thoughts, forever unknown to you. Already you’re regretting your honesty. You’re just going to ruin your own revenge, or worse, get Julia killed. “I t–told you already Julia. You can’t – you can’t save me. You can’t save the – the dead.”

“Ari–”

“This isn’t something you can, uh, just… punch and make b–better.” She doesn’t need to know about your own plans, not yet. Not tonight. Maybe not ever if you’re lucky. “Ariadne d–died in that apartment, right alongside Anathema. Julia… I don’t know who – who I am now.” You laugh, feeling hollow, grateful it’s too dark for her to see your face . “A ghost, maybe?”

Or something darker.

Julia’s heartbeat is pounding in your ear, her arms pressing against you as if she can somehow squeeze the negative emotion out of you. “You’re not a ghost, Ari.”

“Yes I am.” Your reply is sharp, immediate. “I–I’m not real, Julia.” You’re not crying again. You’ve already had enough tonight. It’s not happening again. It isn’t.

“You are.” Julia repeats forcefully, squeezing you a little for emphasis. “What… what happened to you isn’t your fault.”

Yes it is.

“You’re stronger than this.”

No you’re not.

“I know what you’re thinking Ari.”

“N–no you don’t. I – I’m the telepath here.”

“You’re here now, okay? You’re safe now. ”

You sigh, frustration and fear mounting, how is it not obvious? “Y–you don’t–“ you want to clarify but now your courage is failing you again. That’s what? The third time tonight? At least.

It’s not like ‘cowardice’ wasn’t already on your list of sins. “…thank you.”

“Can you…” Julia’s speech is slow, deliberate, as if she’s terrified of what the answer will be, and that alone gets your attention. “Can you ever forgive me? For not coming?”

You don’t respond at first, instead you trace your fingers up the back of Julia’s spine, feeling the scars, the outlines of metal, the years of work both man-made and natural that went into this woman beside you.

How many days did you talk to her, alone by yourself? Imagining her talking back, trying to help you get through it. Before you gave up? Before they caught on, turned it against you? Another scalpel to pick you apart with.

It’s not a bloodied blanket in your arms this time.

“D–do you have any idea how long I’ve w–wanted to do this?” You lean in, kiss her shoulder before moving up to her neck. “You pulled me out of– out of that grave, Julia Ortega. Y–you’re my very own Orpheus.”

Maybe it’s not the answer she’s hoping for, but it’s the only answer you have.

In the dark, in the aftermath, as you contemplate the safest way to get dressed again, a soft voice pokes through the machine-quiet, thrumming from the chest underneath you. You shift position, looking up at the shadow of her face. “Julia? Are – are you… singing again?” You whisper.

Julia doesn’t respond but you can feel her head nod on the bed. You let yourself close your eyes and listen for a moment, and then – “oh, no, no, stop. Stop, Julia, you’re b–butchering it.”

She laughs and you find yourself laughing along with her. “Well then,” she shifts a hand free from under you, running it through your uncombed hair, straightening out the knots. “You going to show me how it’s done?”

You freeze for a moment, paralyzed with fear, a sinking dread of the void you know is coming to swallow you whole. Then Julia’s hand strokes your hair again, and at least for a second you feel anchored. Real again.

“Okay,” you whisper, “just this once.”


	38. words are arrows in my mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your decision is going to have consequences, you know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [Say You'll Stay] ](https://youtu.be/KnwnnbQXgg8)  
>  [ [what’s the good in being good?] ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21291299)

##  human only in form

Things are spiraling out of control.

Don’t think about what you just did – last night? This night? This morning? You haven’t actually slept yet. Or, well – You haven’t jumped into Jane’s body yet which is your usual divider between units of time these days.

You roll over on your bed, press a pillow over your face. The sensation of soft fabric against too-warm skin. The pillow smells like fabric cleaner, not Julia. The twinge in your chest at the thought catches you off guard. The ghost of Ortega’s body on your skin. It’s a wonder, really, that you managed the presence of mind to leave while you still could. Before sunrise spoiled everything.

What do you even want, Ariadne? What do you want out of life? For a while it seemed so clear, so obvious. Strike back. Strike down. Seize control of your own life again. Make the people that hurt you pay, make them regret not leaving you be. You’d seize the rotten secret of what the Directive does and you’d drag it into the disinfectant of the light. If the Directive was the law, and the law decided what was right and wrong, then you’d toss it aside. Toss all of them aside.

Tossing aside, it should be noted, didn’t mean _sleeping_ with the ex-marshal.

Well– technically, you didn’t, except no yeah, you kind of did, but then again, you didn’t really do anything but then again, like– Undressed. Same bed. You touched her. She touched you.

Skin on skin –

A shudder runs up your spin. A brief turn of vertigo before everything settles down again. She knows now. A tiny piece at least. Knows you’re transgender. And – and she accepted it. Was cool with it. For now anyway. She could still come to her senses later.

She said she loved you – loves you? Everything from dinner on still feels sharp in your mind. A precious rarity given how unreliable your memory can be at times.

But you couldn’t say it back. Not even really sure what it would mean to say it. Can’t say you really know what it is, what it means. But – if you loved her back, really, truly did so, then… you wouldn’t be lying to her, would you? What will you do if you have to face her again? Charge Vs. Adrestia? Do you keep running? Everytime? That’s a bit of tell, isn’t it?

You’ll have to tell her.

Everything. It’s the only way to be fair. The right thing to do. Even though it’ll ruin this – this strange miracle of a connection you have. But – but not now. Is… it so wrong to want to be happy? To finally know what that feels like? Of course you don’t deserve it but…

Ist that what this whole thing is about, at the core of it? Why else try to take back control of your life, why else try to expose the evil the Directive is enmeshed in?

But what happened to revenge?

Dr. Finch keeps saying you deserve to be happy. Chelsea used to say that too. Julia, Anathema… Would any of them still say you deserve to be happy, if they knew the truth? Would Anathema still be alive, if you hadn’t insisted on inserting yourself into a situation you didn’t belong?

Your cell phone buzzes from the bottom of your purse at the base of your bed. With a groan you roll over, grope a hand down around the floor until you fish it up.

Julia.

Of course, who else?

> Sparkles: Did you get home okay?

You cover your mouth as you fight a smile. Of course that’s her first question. ‘yes, mom’ You type back, making a point to undo the default capitalization. Predictive typing can take your lowercase text from your cold dead fingers.

Three dots as she types a reply.

> Sparkles: Don’t be like that!! I’m just checking in
> 
> Becker: just teasing
> 
> Becker: um
> 
> Becker: thanks for asking
> 
> Sparkles: Of course!!
> 
> Sparkles: Listen thanks for having dinner with me
> 
> Sparkles: Last night and for
> 
> Sparkles: You know
> 
> Becker: i
> 
> Sparkles: And
> 
> Sparkles: Trusting me
> 
> Becker: uh, haha
> 
> Becker: i feel like i should be thanking you
> 
> Becker: you really uh
> 
> Becker: haha uh geeze
> 
> Becker: i’m tearing up again sorry sorry
> 
> Sparkles: Oh no!!
> 
> Becker: no, no
> 
> Becker: it’s um like, good crying?
> 
> Becker: like, you did it julia congrats
> 
> Sparkles: Congrats??
> 
> Becker: you unlocked the legendary second emotion,
> 
> Becker: now in addition to sad crying i can happy cry too
> 
> Becker: uh
> 
> Becker: that was a joke
> 
> Becker: you can laugh at that
> 
> Sparkes: Ari…
> 
> Sparkles: I meant what I said last night you know that right?
> 
> Becker: you say a lot of things
> 
> Sparkles: Touché but
> 
> Sparkles: I’ll do whatever it takes, okay?
> 
> Sparkles: I know you don’t want me getting involved
> 
> Sparkles: And I have to respect that
> 
> Becker: am i still talking to julia ortega?
> 
> Sparkles: Oh har har you, hush
> 
> Sparkles: What I mean is
> 
> Sparkles: Whatever you want to tell me I’ll listen
> 
> Sparkles: I promise you there’s nothing you could tell me
> 
> Sparkles: That would make me think less of you
> 
> Becker: that’s
> 
> Becker: there you go with your wild promises again
> 
> Sparkles: Just I’m here for you okay?
> 
> Becker: i
> 
> Becker: okay
> 
> Becker: i’m
> 
> Becker: i’m here for you too? it’s uh
> 
> Becker: it’s not right if this is some one-way deal
> 
> Sparkles: Ari…
> 
> Sparkles: Well in that case…
> 
> Becker: oh no
> 
> Sparkles: Relax!! The computer in my…
> 
> Sparkles: Other office is acting up lately,
> 
> Sparkles: Do you mind coming in and looking at it?
> 
> Becker: seriously? uh sure? what exactly is up with it?

It takes another fifteen minutes of back and forth with Ortega to settle on a time and date. Well. Can’t avoid the Rangers forever. Maybe you’ll luck out and Argent won’t be in when you visit.

Who are you kidding, you’ll probably walk right into her. Another reason to start going over the Regenerator plans. Don’t want her getting antsy.

You drop your phone to your side on the bed and shut your eyes.

Breath in.

Hold.

Breath out.

Can’t hide from the world forever. Next week Jane is supposed to check in with Dr. Mortum. It’ll be your first time seeing her since the auction fiasco. How will _that_ go?

Nothing for it but to find out. Try to salvage what good you can get.


	39. peel the skin raw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You need to have Jane arrange a meeting with Dr. Mortum, but she wants to meet Jane first, in person. ...why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: tortue, past abuse, emetophobia  
> [[Ripe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ObpxB1_TV8)]

#  [It ain’t so dark](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7vR2YEukuElPrLp3s50SZa?si=-qff0yo4RoSRveT12FOpzA)

## peel the skin raw

Dr. Mortum lets go of Jane’s arm as the two of them step into the laboratory proper. No experiments running in the background today.

Well.

That’s different?

Mortum glances back to her friend, a nervous smile to try and ease the tension. It doesn’t work. “Do you want a drink?”

“A drink?” Jane crosses her arms, scans the room. It’s been months since you felt the need to have Jane make a note of the exits in Mortum’s lab. Worktables, computer banks, a makeshift office space offset with fake-walls, everything is way too clean. “What’s with you today? We’re at your place now, can we finally talk about whatever’s going on?”

What was so important that she had to talk about it in person? You’d been hoping to have Jane arrange a meeting between Dr. Mortum and Ariadne. Pull back the mask at least a little. Try to mend the bridge before it completely burned down. Instead, the good doctor had insisted on talking to Jane in person.

“I have wine? Champagne, a nice Pinot Noir…”

“Mortum.”

“No? Alas.” Dr. Mortum exaggerates her shrug, brings a hand up to fiddle with her glasses. “How are you doing, mon amie? It has been a while since we last talked. And a lot has… happened.”

Jane snorts, “Yeah, no shit.” Her expression softens, maybe that was a little too harsh. “I’m sorry. Things have been busy on my end too.”

“Mm-hm.” Mortum nods, not taking her eyes off the wine-rack she’s examining. “Adrestia is keeping you busy?”

Jane falters, running her hands up her arms. Some scars, but nothing like yours, smoother. Jane can pull off a short sleeve dress like this without any fear. “Y–yeah. She didn’t cause any problems for you at the auction, did she?”

“You know how you advised me to just buy the teleportation gun?” Mortum taps a finger on one bottle, then pulls out the one next to it and moves to pour herself a drink. “She stole it.”

“Ah.” Jane grimaces. “ I– actually, that’s part of why I needed to talk to you?”

“Oh? – Are you sure you want to pass up a drink?” Mortum holds up the bottle. “Native Californian, 1979, summer before the big one hit.”

“Oh hell, fine.” Jane sighs and lets her arms drop to her sides. “My… My boss wants me to arrange a meeting. To, uh… return your gun.”

Mortum hands Jane a full glass and the two of them take seats around the workshop table. “She wants to meet? With me directly?” Mortum frowns. “In person?”

“Yeah. Tonight, actually. There’s this dinky bar on Melrose called La Catina, she’ll be there at six o’clock.”

“Do you think she suspects anything?”

“I couldn’t say.” Jane takes a sip from her glass. Need to steady her nerves. Need to calm down. Jane doesn’t get jumpy. “I watch my thoughts around her but… you know. How would I know?”

Dr. Mortum swirls the wine around her glass, thinking. “Will you be there as well?”

“I… have my own chores, I’m sorry.” This is a delicate rope you’re threading, but you need to sew these pieces back together before everything falls apart. “For what it’s worth, she’d be meeting you out of armor.”

That gets her attention, “Out of armor?”

“If she knew we were…” Jane makes a face, “planning on, uh, ditching her, I don’t think she’d be offering to trust you with who she was.” There’s a twinge of guilt for lying that blatantly. It’s for the greater good though. Right?

“Truthfully, Adrestia has not been a terrible employer to me. Always paid on time, resourceful in finding rare materials.” Is Jane holding her breath, or is that you? “But she is dangerous. Liable to end poorly if my experience is any indicator. And then there’s the matter of your mandatory employment by her.”

“Th–that’s true.”

“Mon amie, how did you come to work for Adrestia, anyway?”

“W–what?” Jane gives an uncomfortable laugh and fiddles with the glass in her hands. “I mean, you know… girl on her own, looking to get a leg up in the world…”

Dr. Mortum downs the rest of her own glass in one go. “Do you remember when you asked me to look into that ‘Shroud’ character? Back right before the Auction?”

Something tightens in Jane’s gut. “Uh, yeah? Did you find something out? About her?”

“She is Lord Ember’s number one enforcer in San Francisco. A tactile telepath with some kind of…” Mortum frowns to herself, “life… energy drain ability.”

“…life drain?”

“Not very scientific I know.” The woman’s frown only deepens. “Merde, what I would give for the chance to study her.”

“Uh – Doctor?”

“Right, Right.” Mortum shakes her head, tossing away some worryingly inscrutable thought. “Anyway, the people whose minds she… consumes, she can sift through their memories at will. I could not say how long she retains the information but it makes for one very handy interrogation-execution package.”

Can feel the goose-bumps running up the back of Jane’s neck. That just talking about Shroud like this is producing a reaction in Jane is not helping your nerves in the slightest. “She… _eats_ people's minds…?”

“So it appears. What’s left is a body, weakened and comatose. Not something that would last more than a few hours without life support. That is the basis for the rumors behind her having a ‘death touch’.”

“That’s… awful, when you put it like that. But it’s not exactly new information.”

“Have you crossed paths with her before, mon amie?”

“No. I mean – I don’t think I have?” Jane hunches over, “Seriously, doc, what’s wrong? There’s been something off with you ever since we talked on the phone last night.” It can’t be what it’s starting to sound like. It can’t be. There’s no way. There’s a mistake, somehow. A mix-up.

“I am sorry, I am… just not sure how to approach this. Or… what to make of what I found.” Dr. Mortum eyes the wine bottle, plainly weighing the benefits of pouring herself another glass. “Maybe it would be best just to show you directly.”

“Show me? Show me what?”

Dr. Mortum puts the wine glass down, reaches a hand across the table to grasp Jane’s. “You really do not know?”

Jane stiffens under the doctor’s touch but doesn’t pull her hand away. “I wouldn’t be asking like this if I did.”

She doesn’t let go of Jane’s hand, instead shifting her chair so they’re both on the same side of the table. With her free hand she gestures towards the monitor screen installed on the near wall. “While I was digging around, I got my hands on some footage through a contact of mine.”

“Footage?”

Jane watches as Dr. Mortum brings a holographic keyboard to life in front of her. The monitor flickers on as Mortum navigates through a series of files. “Here we are. This… might be difficult to watch.”

“Doctor,” Jane’s voice is dry, “just what on earth are you trying to… show… me…?” Voice fades to nothing as the video file expands to fill the whole screen. The image is grainy and low quality, shades of grey like a cheap security camera. But the picture jostles and moves in strange motions, hand-held? No – almost first-person esque. Mods? An eye-camera?

The center of the screen is taken up by a woman on a chair. Ziplock ties bind her by the wrists and ankles to the metal frame, and the chair doesn’t shift at all as she struggles. Welded to the floor? The woman on the chair has a black eye, bruises on her arms, chin. Curly hair framing a too-familiar face.

There’s no way.

There’s no possible way.

You look down to your – Jane looks down to her hands, rubs her wrist with her fingers. No bruises, no marks. Not – not anymore. This is Jane. This is Jane’s body. This kind of thing doesn’t happen to Jane. She’s safe. She’s nobody. Your escape from all this.

But there’s no tattoos to be seen on the woman in the video.

The camera turns away and Shroud is stepping into the room. Too-fancy dress, veiled face, and long gloves. The camera steps back getting a wider view of the whole scene as Shroud steps around the woman in the chair. “Be reasonable Ace, all we want to know is how you did it.” The voice, tinny through the speakers, is still enough to set Jane on edge. Grinding her teeth, nails digging into her arms.

“Did what?” Jane’s voice. Fuck. Shit. Piss. “I don’t understand why I’m here.”

Shroud’s voice is slow, faux patience. “Two million and thirty three thousand. That’s how much you’ve lost Lord Ember.” The skeletal woman stops in front of – Jane? Ace? The woman tied to the chair. One hand tugging back against the fabric of her gloves.

“I’ve been playing fair. I’m just lucky.” Picture of hurt innocence. Literal.

“Hmm… Luck.” Shroud reaches out a hand, and someone off screen passes off a gun. A revolver. Even with the poor visual fidelity it looks like an antique. “Let’s see just how lucky you are.”

Without thinking about it, Jane finds herself reaching out for Dr. Mortum’s arm, pulling the woman closer. Mortum shifts position to get closer, puts her arm around Jane instead, holding her tight.

There’s no one to comfort the woman in the chair. Shroud, calm and silent as death itself loads a bullet into the revolver. As she points the gun at the woman’s leg, Jane flinches, buries her face in Mortum’s side. But there’s no ‘bang,’ no screams.

Another bullet loaded. Shroud humming to herself. Points at the woman’s shoulder. Jane cries out, hides her face against Dr. Mortum again. The woman on the screen remains stoic the whole time. No ‘bang’ this time either.

Third bullet. Pointed at the forehead. The chamber spins and now on the woman on the screen – Ace – flinches the color draining out of her face. Did Ace on the screen cry out that time or was that Jane again?

Shroud chuckles as she waves the gun in Ace’s face. “Don’t be a baby. It’s just rubber bullets; to see how long your luck lasts. It won’t kill you.”

Ace shrinks back against the chair. Jane’s own breathing is becoming increasingly harder, the body slipping out of your control again – like before. “You will, though.” Ace says.

“Hm?” Shroud leans back, a hand on her hip. She holds the gun out and again, someone off screen takes it from her. Both hands free now, she starts tugging at one of her gloves. “Not if you cooperate with me.”

“Liar.” Ace strains against her bonds again. It’s hard to breath, hard to watch. But something won’t let you look away either. “You’ll kill me, and that will be the end of you.”

“Threats? Really now? In your position?” Shroud’s glove is off now, and the camera person takes another step back. “I’ve looked into you, Ace. Bitter, lonely soul. No close family, no close friends. Nobody will miss you.” Shroud pulls back her veil. Skin deathly pale and sunken, sallow features. Something like a walking corpse with a death’s head grin. “Nobody will avenge you.”

“Still not lying.” An impossible level of conviction in those words. Ace’s wrists are bleeding now, plastic cutting into skin. But there’s no getting away. No escaping. “Do your worst sucker, but that will be the biggest mistake of your life.”

“I’ve heard it all before.” Shroud says, bored, as she flexes her hand now. Too thin, too bony. “Now… let’s see what you’ve been hiding from me.” Her hand grasps Ace’s face and Ace screams, and you can’t, can’t keep watching. Jane hides her face against Mortum’s side. Don’t look until the screaming stops. This isn’t – it’s not happening. Not now. Not here.

Ace sits in the chair, breathing but limp. Sunken eyes, sallow cheeks, looking awfully like she did when you found Jane in the hospital. Shroud, in contrast, looks radically different. Less a corpse and more a woman carved from marble. A wide grin across her face, making a show of licking her lips. “Boosts were always my favorite.” Nausea roils in the back of Jane’s throat.

“What did you learn?” The voice comes from off camera.

“Lone operator.” Shroud puts a finger to her head, eyes closed in a too familiar motion. Her sleeve falls back against gravity, not enough to reveal anything definitive but are those shapes a hint of tattoos? Geometric. Someone else far too familiar. “Could see the numbers before the ball landed. Same with the cards.” Shroud shrugs, then smirks towards the camera. “Cute trick. Tell him that he doesn’t have to worry, she’s not one of Hollow Ground’s crew. Just someone who miscalculated. Badly.”

And it’s too much. Jane pulls away from Dr. Mortum. Staggers to her feet. “I–I–I– I have to– I need a walk. I need to get a hold of myself. I need–” Have to get out of here. Have to get away. Have to go. Somewhere else. Anywhere else. Anywhere but here with the walls and lights and chairs and stern-faced people asking questions and and and –

The off-screen voice snickers. “Guess her luck finally ran out. What should we do with the body?”

Shroud flexes her exposed hand, slowly tugging her glove back on. “Sell her for parts, let her recoup some of the cost that way.”

Nausea riles up and Jane collapses to the floor, shock of pain in distant knees. Hands on the tiles, retches, then vomits. Did you just watch yourself – watch Jane, die? No – not Jane. Some other woman. Not Jane, not you. You’re alive. Both of you. For now. This isn’t – this can’t – Ghost of a presence besides you, hair standing on the back of your neck.

“Mon amie?” Dr. Mortum hovers by your side, hands outstretched but not quite touching.

“I’m f–f–f–fine.” You insist. Tears falling from your eyes into the pool of ejected wine and bile on the floor, more running out your nose. Can feel your body shaking, arms struggling to hold yourself off the floor.

“Come on, mon amie, let me help you up.” There’s a brief pause and then arms reach around your shoulders, pulling you back to your feet, holding you steady even as you continue to shake. “Let us get you to the bathroom.”

“S–s–sorry. I–I’m sorry.” Your voice is hoarse, cracking apart. “S–sorry. I’m so, so sorry…”

Jane had a life before you found her. Not a happy one from the look of it, but it was hers all the same. You’ve known that. Always known that but it – it wasn’t real before. It didn’t matter. Just an empty shell, a tool. But she’s –

Ace was –

And you’ve just been –

Fuck –

Jane doubles over, retching again, Mortum titters. Keeping her on her feet. Stronger than you had expected for a techie. Mortum leads you out into the adjoining bathroom, “I will clean it up. You just take a moment, okay?” A light touch to your back makes you jump, and Mortum hesitates, clearly at a loss for what to do.

So are you.

Stare at your face in the mirror. Hair a mess, eyes red, a mess. Everything’s a mess. This face that’s yours but not yours, Jane’s face. Or Ace’s face? Hold yourself up with your hands bracing against the bathroom sink.

What do you do?

Clean up. Clean yourself up. Clean Jane up. Get it together. Get a hold of yourself. Jane sucks in air until her lungs hurt, then slowly lets it all out.

Does it again.

Third time.

Mortum leaves to clean the mess on the floor.

Never felt more like a puppeteer as you do now, putting Jane through the motions. Blow the nose, water on the face. Wash off the tears, snot, vomit, ruined make-up. Hyper-aware of the differences between your face and hers. Smaller nose, rounder face, softer eyes. Just fooling yourself this whole time – some sort of sick fantasy on your part. Letting yourself get lured in by a shared hair and eye color, a similar inability to tan.

Sometimes, in these more emotional moments it gets difficult to remember Jane is an act you’re playing, a mask you’re wearing. Not that you’ve ever been good at separating your feelings. The fiasco with Julia can attest to that.

Can’t say you were prepared for ‘interrogation by a Farm-trained telepath’ to be another point of blurred boundaries between the two of you. Grab a wash cloth off the hook, take a deep breath then bury your face in the fabric to muffle your scream. Take a breath; scream again.

When you stop shaking, Jane pulls her face away from the towel. Jane’s face, Jane’s body. Don’t forget. When Jane runs out of breath, she finishes drying off her face, adjusts her dress before walking back into the lab.

Mortum gives Jane a sheepish wave as she spots her, “Do you need a drink?”

“I’m going to need something harder than wine this time.” Jane replies, rubbing her hands over her face.

“I was thinking similarly.” She’s already back by the kitchenette. Jane slumps into the nearest chair, listening to the sound of glasses being poured. “I am sorry,” she says, “I should have given more warning. I just…”

“I don’t think there’s a warning adequate enough for something like that.” Jane suppresses a shudder, only looking up to take the –very large– glass of whiskey offered to her. “So that was really her… death-touch deal?”

Mortum nods, nursing her own large glass. “Yes. It was passed along to me as an example of Shroud in action. But I would not have bothered putting you through that except for–”

Jane cuts her off, “who the the victim was.”

“Mm.” Dr. Mortum watches Jane carefully over the rim of her glasses.

“How old is the video?”

Don’t say three years, don’t say three years, don’t say three years.

“About three years.” Mortum answers.

“Fuck.”

“Mon amie?”

“Goddamnit.” Jane laughs, high-pitched and frantic. “So then that person on the video, Ace, that was…”

“I’m afraid so.”


	40. don't you call my name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girl had to be real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [ Slow Days ](https://youtu.be/mocORZQ_HiM) ]

##  don’t you call my name

“Well.” Jane takes a long drink, gasping for air when she puts the glass down on the table. “I get why you wanted to just show me the video.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

That gets another, more bitter laugh. “We kind of have to, don’t we?”

“Mon amie…” Dr. Mortum’s voice is low, face furrowed in worry. “How far back can you remember?”

“I…” Jane hesitates, then clenches her fists. “About three years. Woke up in the hospital. Everything hurt. My boss got me out.” What would have happened if you had waited to come back the next day? Or snuck in a day earlier? It had been… sheer luck you had been able to steal away Jane’s body when you had.

Had it been luck? If Shroud was Lord Ember’s creature, what was she doing conducting interrogations in Los Diablos? Have you been set up somehow? From the very beginning? No – no, that’s absurd. That’s crazy. There’s a healthy paranoia and then there’s…

Jane exhales, a long shaking breath. “I don’t remember anything before that.”

“Saving someone’s life is certainly one way to ensure loyalty.” Dr. Mortum’s voice is soft, low. When did her hand find Jane’s? How long has she been holding it?

“I don’t – I’m not sure that she did.”

“Did what?”

“Save my life.”

“You will be free of her one day.” She squeezes Jane’s hand.

Jane only flinches, pulls her hand back. “That’s – that’s not what I mean. I… oh god. I don’t know how to say this.” Never mind how to say it. What to say is the more pressing issue.

“ I am not sure I am following, mon amie.”

“Of course not.” Jane snaps back. “You don’t exactly have the full picture – I mean, neither do I but I’ve got more of the – the _goddamn_ puzzle pieces, fuck.” Another long drink ending in a gasp for breath. Try not to think too much about the worried concern on Mortum’s face. This is stupid. What are you doing? Shut up Ariadne.

Dr. Mortum says nothing, damn her. No well-meaning advice, no comforting words. Just a worried look.

“Look I – I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” Jane’s heart pounds against her ribcage.

“Well, that is hardly a surprise, considering our respective businesses.”

“Just… let me finish. I don’t – I don’t really know how to sell this. You aren’t going to believe me.” Jane’s smile is brittle, hands hugging her sides.

Mortum shakes her head, “Try me.”

“Okay. Well.” Jane fiddles with the hem of her dress, fingers worrying the fringe. “I’ve told you I can’t just… quit my job with Adrestia.”

She nods.

“And I knew Adrestia…. had saved my life, I just… had no idea to what extent.” Jane pauses, chewing furiously at the inside of her cheek. “I don’t think she knew either. But – Okay. So. Three years ago, Adrestia springs me out of the hospital…. who knows, maybe days, maybe hours, before I was going to get carved up for organ replacements. Following me so far?”

“I am following.”

“And – and I was weak. I was really weak. It took me months just to get well enough to get out of bed again, to walk, a whole year before I could even begin to start doing the simplest jobs for her. But – but there’s still…”

“The question of how you survived Shroud at all.” Mortum finishes and Jane nods.

“Except, that’s the thing. I didn’t. I didn’t survive.” Jane’s voice cracks as she shakes her head, looks anywhere but at Mortum’s face. “I’m not some special exception.”

Mortum’s hand finds Jane’s again, a light touch, a chance to pull back. When Jane doesn’t, she holds tighter.

“My… boss is a telepath, right? A very powerful one.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Well… She can… Adrestia can possess people.”

That gets a quizzical look, Mortum’s eyebrows furrowing together. “Possess people?” She echoes back.

“It’s– It’s the next step up, I guess, from just tweaking someone’s thoughts.” Jane winces as Mortum’s grip on her hand tightens. “Only… most people, you know, there’s someone already home. It makes possession difficult. And the longer you do it, the harder it gets.” Jane’s voice drops, “And it’s… it’s horrific for the victim. Watching their body move without their say so. Trapped in your own mind.”

“Jane…” Mortum’s voice is barely a whisper. “I am so sorry.”

Jane tenses up, eyes wet as she laughs. “You really shouldn’t be. Shroud… evicted the previous tenant, and I? I moved in. Made myself at home.”

Silence and then – Dr. Mortum’s face crinkles into a frown. “What? Mon amie, I am not sure I understand what you are getting at.”

“What’s not to get doc?” More nervous laughter. “I’m the man behind the curtain. I am my boss.”

Mortum lets go of Jane’s hand, the absence hurts worse the pressure she’d been applying before. “You are not telepathically sensitive.”

“Jane – _Ace_ , isn’t my body. Adrestia is. Possessing her. Me? I’m… not so sure anymore.”

“What? Use your words.”

“Shroud.” You spit the name out, feeling the bile in the back of your throat. “Killed Ace. We both saw it,” Jane gestures at the monitor. “And then, I came along. I needed… I needed a face. I couldn’t risk being seen. Being recognized. And – and here w–w–was this body. This empty body, just waiting.”

“A puppet.”

“Yes. I stole her. Me?” You stare down at Jane’s hands. “I didn’t even know who she was.”

Dr. Mortum’s face has gone cold. A careful blank mask. Unreadable as she stares you down. “So.” Her voice is even, controlled. “Who am I talking to right now?”

“I’m – I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for – for lying to you this whole time.”

“But… why would you do that?” Her voice strains, cracks against the pressure to keep an even tone.

Jane looks down, stares at the floor, hands helpless in her lap. “This… whatever this is, wasn’t supposed to happen. I just needed someone to build my armor. You weren’t supposed to be…” Jane makes a face and you wonder if she looks as helpless as you feel right now. “…nice.”

“Nice?” Dr. Mortum draws away from you – from Jane. “Nice?”

“I liked you, okay?” Your response comes back quick and defensive. “You could be funny. And you’re smart, didn’t pry much but you also cared. I wasn’t ready for that. I had been… alone. For so long. And I didn’t want to let it go. I was afraid to let it go. Even though I knew I should have.” Jane’s voice drops, “If – if anything, I should have told you months ago. But I… I liked how I was around you. I was afraid of how things would change.”

Mortum pushes up her glasses to rub at her eyes. “And this is different from how you normally are, I take it?”

“It… it reminded me of how I could be, before I died.”

“Before you… died?”

“I mean, before Adrestia died, not Jane. Ugh, different disaster. Even longer back.”

“I’ve lost the plot on this one.” It almost sounds like a joke, but Mortum doesn’t smile.

“At heart… I’m kind of a coward.”

“Lying, hiding behind other people’s bodies… I can not say that I am inclined to disagree right now.” Mortum pushes her glasses back up her nose, eyes boring holes through you behind orange-tinted lenses. “I also do not appreciate being made fun of much, either.”

That one hurts. “It wasn’t like that!” You clench your fists, can feel the tension in Jane’s shoulders. “I meant everything I said.”

“Even about your boss?”

“Is it really a surprise that I don’t like myself?”

Mortum doesn’t respond, beyond a “Hmm.”

“And then you said you were going to stop working for Adrestia. That you wanted me to quit with you. And I – I tried to tell you then. But I couldn’t. I literally couldn’t quit. I literally can’t stop being Adrestia. No – no matter how much I… I might want to. So… when you said you had a plan, in case she – In case I did something against you and me – Jane, I needed to know what it was to-to-to defend myself.”

“Hence stealing my teleportation gun from me.”

“What? No!” You wave your hands, desperate for her to believe you. “That was an accident. I w–w–was serious about returning it. I– I wanted to try and fix things but I… I don’t know how.” Nausea threatens to roil up again, and thank god you’re already sitting down.

“Sometimes, Jane, the only way to fix an experiment is to trash the whole thing and try something else.”

“I…” Your voice falters. “I don’t know how to interpret that.”

The silence that stretches out between the two of you is physically painful. Finally, Dr. Mortum breaks the tension, rapping her fingers on the worktable. “So.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why not just approach me as yourself? Why this farce?”

“I couldn’t!” You hold your head in your hands, pulling at your hair. “Too many people know who I was before. I couldn’t be sure I could trust you. That I could trust anyone. And by the time I thought I could…”

“I had already decided that I could not trust Adrestia.”

“Yes. That.” You shift in your seat. “I just… you let me feel real, at least for a little while. Like I could have friends.”

“Friends.” Her voice is flat.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Jane’s smile fades, “…Were friends, I guess. Even if you don’t believe anything else I’ve said, you have to believe me on that. Please. I just… I know it’s selfish but I just wanted to be happy for once.”

“You are going to have to try harder than that.” There’s a desperate edge in Mortum’s voice now. You can’t bring yourself to lift Jane’s head to see the other woman’s face.

Jane shrinks back in her seat. It’s weird. You keep expecting your usual panic symptoms whenever things start to skirt too close to the truth. “I don’t know what else I can say… when we first met, I didn’t even think of myself as human.”

“Human?” Dr. Mortum gives Jane a sharp look. “Explain that one to me.”

“Fuck, I – I…”

Are you crazy? She hates you. You can’t tell her this. No. No way. Jumping in front of a train would be more effective than this. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck –

“Stalling.”

“This isn’t easy, shit!” Jane chews her cheek, hugging her arms tight against herself. “Okay… um…” You glance at the image on the monitor, still frozen. “Scroll back, like thirty seconds on the video?” The world has an ephemeral edge to it, unreality slipping in, like a bad dream. Jane shifts position in her seat while you watch – just a passenger.

“Still stalling.”

Jane groans, a pleading look on her face. “Please, just… humor me on this, okay? I’m going somewhere with this.”

Dr. Mortum sighs. With a gesture the keyboard reappears beneath her hand and the video snaps back, frame by frame.

Stuttering images flicker past and then – “There!” Jane jabs her finger towards the screen.

Mortum stops the rewind. “Alright, what am I supposed to be looking at?”

“Look at Shroud’s sleeve. Where it falls back, and right before the skinsuit starts on her arm. Do you see anything?”

You don’t look at the screen, instead watching Dr. Mortum’s face as she scrutinizes the grainy image. “I don’t…”

“Those designs, just poking out the top there?”

“Right.”

“Re-gene tattoos.”

Sharp in-take of breath. “Truly?”

“I’d recognize them anywhere.”

“I see them now…” A tight frown settles onto the doctor’s face. “Do you think Lord Ember is aware he has a regene in his employ? An escapee or…?” She stops, shakes her head. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m the s–s–same as – as Shroud.” Jane clenches her hands. “The – the uh, well, the other me, I mean.” You feel dizzy. Sick. But at a remove. Like those feelings are happening to someone else. To Ariadne. Not you.

“…A re-gene?” What does that look on Mortum’s face mean?

Jane nods, then shakes her head. “Do you know what a cuckoo is?”

She narrows her eyes at Jane. “I… might be aware that they exist.” If anyone knew what a cuckoo was, trust it to be Dr. Mortum. Yet another reason you shouldn’t have trusted her with the truth. This is… it’s a mistake. You’re making a mistake.

Jane spreads her arms wide and you choke back a laugh. “Well, you’re– you’re looking at one right now. I couldn’t– I couldn’t let them find me. My other body is… I mean, my real body is just…”

Dr. Mortum’s eyes widen as she curses under her breath. “Mon dieu, how long have you been on the run?”

“A few years… before – before uh…” You swallow back the bile in your throat. Might as well go all in. If she’s going to fire a gun at you, better make sure it’s a headshot. “Before Sidestep.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Dr. Mortum groans, rubbing her nose. A pained laugh as she shakes her head. “No. Of course. All the pieces fall into place. Merde!”

“I g–g–got caught once, already. I can’t go back. Not again. So… I try to… um, try to stay out of sight. Use a go-between.”

“I understand that, mon amie, but I wish you would have trusted me.” Dr. Mortum groans. “For both our sakes.”

“I know.” You run your hands over your face, avoiding the doctor’s gaze. “Look… if you– if you want revenge, I’d rather you just… shoot me then tip them off. I’ll die before I go back.”

“Did you seriously think I could ever hurt…” The doctor hesitates, her eyes searching Jane’s. “her?”

“Yes.” You whisper, unable to raise your voice any louder. “I’m… afraid. Always. All the time. D–depending on… other people. It’s – it’s a weakness I can’t afford to have. But I – I’m…” falling apart. Everything is crumbling. All your carefully arranged defenses. And who’s tearing them apart? Yourself? Why? Why do you keep undermining yourself like this? But–but–but I – I’m telling you now. You deserve the truth.”

Is that confusion or disgust? Anger? You can’t look. Can’t make Jane lift her head. “Even if it ends up killing you?”

“I can’t argue that I don’t deserve it.”

Silence.

Mortum isn’t armed, but that doesn’t mean much. She has complete control of the lab and it’s defenses. Jane might be able to overpower her, but in a fight but could she get out alive? You picked up more about the good doctor’s defense systems than Jane has let on, but is it enough? Is it even accurate and not some sort of decoy?

“Okay…” Dr. Mortum scrunches her face up. Deep in thought. “You were planning to meet me tonight. In your own body.”

“That’s right.”

“Were you planning to tell me then?”

“If I – if I didn’t chicken out again. Neutral ground. It was – It was supposed to be safer.”

“Safer.” Mortum’s tone goes cold again. “For _you_ maybe.” The disdain is plain. “This is a lot to process.”

“I know.”

“I need–” The doctor’s voice cracks as she struggles to keep her composure. Furious at you, to be sure. Can’t blame her. “I need some time. Mon dieu, I need some fucking time.”

“I… understand.”

“I will keep your secret. And… for now, I will do you the favor of pretending you don’t know how to get into my lab.” Dr. Mortum raises a pointed finger at you. “But I need some time. To… think things over. To figure out how I feel about this whole… disaster.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you sorry for lying to me or sorry you got caught?”

“Caught?” Jane pulls back, frowning. “I didn’t – I didn’t have to tell you any of this. I–I–I chose to…”

“Shoot yourself in the face.”

“I guess.”

“Right. I’m trying to keep that in mind.” Mortum gets up, turns her back on you. “Just. Go. Get out of here. I’ll contact you when I’m ready to talk.

“Do you know whe–”

“I don’t know, _Adrestia_!” Jane flinches at the name. “It could be a week, it could be years! It might be never! Let me think!”

“Okay.” Jane pulls herself to her feet. You feel hollow, empty. “You… know how to reach me.”

“Just go.”

“I’m sorry.”

You manage to hold yourself together long enough to get Jane back home. Don’t even bother undressing before Jane collapses face first into the bed. A moment’s thought and she rolls over, staring up at the ceiling.

The best you can hope for is that Dr. Mortum doesn’t sell you out. But there’s no recovering that relationship. There can’t be. Can there? She trusted you – no she trusted Jane. Cared about her. But Jane was never – never real. Never who she presented herself as.

Christ.

If this is how it goes with Mortum, how will Julia take the truth?

Julia deserves to know.

When she learns the truth. The kind of monster you are…

Would dying really be so bad? Compared to this?

You close Jane’s eyes as you slowly untether yourself from her body. From Ace’s body? Someone who died alone. Unloved. Screaming. Until you took her. Nursed her back to health and dressed her up as your puppet. A blank slate for your use.

Except not.

Except Ace broke out in a cold sweat in Shroud’s presence. How much is Jane’s behavior yours and how much is it Ace’s? You didn’t know anything about her and so you assumed there was nothing _to_ know.

What were Ace’s last words to Shroud?

_“You’ll kill me, and that will be the end of you.”_


	41. more to lose then gain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You may be incapable of not continually fucking up your life, but there will always be ice cream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [ The Outsider ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3EXmvkWJYw) ]

##  more to lose then gain

Where does a week go? Into ice cream and chocolate bars apparently. Julia calls once, twice, and you let her go to voicemail. Ignore the texts. You fucked up again, you idiot. Stupid. Stupid fucking idiot. Why the fuck did you do that? Dr. Mortum didn’t need to know. You were trying to _save_ that friendship not destroy it!

Were you?

Does it even matter any more? Another secret out and tattering in the wind. When this all comes back to destroy you, you’ll deserve it. You idiot. Getting attached. Feeling what, guilty?

 _God_.

You can’t do this. Can’t take another goddamn fucking second in this stupid body. You’ve got things you need to do. People whose lives deserve to be made every bit as miserable as your own. Not that you can actually _do_ any of that right now, but you can at least work towards it. Stay busy – be productive. Not a fucking useless sadsack.

Jane wakes up, a sharp intake of breath followed by blinking bleary eyes. Stretching her arms up over her head, she suppresses a yawn. Does Jane dream, when you aren’t piloting her body? Still, you don’t pick up any sense of something else here with you, but…

Jane’s hands and neck tense as you think back to that video. Shroud standing triumphant over… over… not you – not Jane. That’s – that’s someone else. Some other life. Ace is dead and Jane’s still here.

Has to be.

A hand hesitates over the cellphone on the bedside table. Take a breath, hold it, let it go. The screen blinks on as Jane unlocks it, scrolling through to check – no, no missed calls. No waiting messages. Should Jane call Dr. Mortum? It hasn’t even been what? Two days? She doesn’t want to hear from Jane. No chance of that. You’ll be lucky if you never hear from her again – if she doesn’t just turn you over to the Directive somehow.

And then it won’t be Jane sitting tied to a chair…

Should do something about it – protect yourself somehow.

But – what’s the point?

Fuck it.

Jane doesn’t act on impulse – but you do. Find the number in the contacts list, press the receiver to your ear as you listen to the dial tone. The voice that picks up at the other end is clipped, strictly professional.

“Mia Ochoa, LD Confidential. Who’s calling?”

It takes a second before Jane has the wits to answer. “It’s Jane.”

“Jane!” Mia’s tone shifts, voice warming slightly. “It’s been a while. Keeping busy?”

“Hah. You could say that. I – I uh… Do you have time to meet up today?” Jane purses her lips as she shifts position on the bedside. “I feel a little bad about how that interview went.”

A long pause and then; “I’ve had worse interviews. But sure. I’ll be free for lunch later today. Around two?”

“S–sounds good.”

A long shower later and Jane stifles a yawn as she steps outside onto the street. Jane’s apartment, and yours for that matter, is a long way from the business district. It would be smarter to get a taxi. But Jane can walk. Better than dealing with people. And anyway, you need _something_ to do, and there’s no Mortum _or_ Ortega to keep Jane busy any more.

Wonder what Julia’s up to, today? Hard at work, saving the city? Does she ever wonder if she’s doing the right thing? Putting herself on the line for people that don’t appreciate her? That parade her around for PR points when it’s convenient and tell her to get in line when it isn’t?

This city doesn’t deserve her.

She could be retired. Could be somewhere safe and out of the way. Somewhere she can’t look at you, act like you actually matter. Cutting things off with her would be the right thing to do. For both of you. She deserves someone real. Someone that isn’t fake and broken and royally fucked up. Who doesn’t keep someone’s comatose body in a metaphorical closet to take on and off like an elaborate change of clothes.

Jane frowns, fingers gripping the strap of her purse, the fringe of her dress brushing against her knees as she speed walks through the thin crowd of people. Jane would be dead if it wasn’t for you. So why does it feel like Jane’s insides are all twisted up?

So much for Jane being your sanctuary. You’ve messed her up almost as bad as your own life.

It’s a long walk to Jane’s usual lunch spot with Mia.

But not long enough to keep Jane from getting there early. For want of anything better to do, Jane orders a coffee and grabs a table outside. People watching feels different when you aren’t telepathic. You’re freer to imagine a better, more interesting world.

Take the woman sitting in the corner table under the shade of the awning. She’s bouncing her baby on one knee while her other hand holds a phone to her ear. Dark circles under her eyes, blouse wrinkled and her jeans have a splash of dirt at the cuffs. A hard day with the kid, talking to her wife over the phone about their weekend plans. Keeping everything balanced is hard, but they can make it work.

“Ar– Oh, it’s… Jane, isn’t it?”

Her heart leaps into Jane’s throat as she scrambles to turn her head towards the source of the question. Who the fuck–? Oh. Jane blinks, tilting her head and frowning as she looks the man standing towards her left up and down. “I’m… sorry, have we met?”

Herald winces, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his head. “Just the one time. It was a couple of months ago? You were with Ortega at a party? It’s uh… me, Herald?” He gestures down at his bright blue skinsuit.

Jane cracks a nervous grin. The kid is already drawing attention from the other café patrons. _Why_ does he have to be talking to Jane, and to be doing so now, of all times? “I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned that you remember me from something like that.”

“Right. Well…” Herald laughs awkwardly with Jane and shrugs his shoulders. “So, uh, how are you and Ortega doing then?”

“Ah. Well…” Jane looks away, studying the cracks in the cement. “Not… so much anymore.”

“Oh? That’s… too bad.”

What the fuck is Herald’s game here? Why did he approach? Jane shrugs, chewing at her cheek. Her voice drops, unable to keep the bitterness out. “Turns out you can’t compete with the real thing.”

“Pardon?”

“N–nothing.” Jane winces. “So… what brings you here?”

Is he floating off the ground again? He is, isn’t he. Damn it. Thought you taught him better than that by now. Must be getting lax without your lessons. “I’m… actually supposed to meet Ortega here?”

“Oh.” You’ve got to be fucking kidding. Seriously?

“But – that’s obviously not the case, I guess, so now this is just kind of…”

“Awkward.” Jane fills in.

Herald smiles in pained agreement. “Sorry.”

Jane shakes her head, pulling her phone out of her purse to check the time. “Well…” Shit. “I think I better make myself scarce.”

“You sure–”

“I’m sure.” Take a breath, keep the grimace off Jane’s face. “I already made enough of a fool of myself. Not interested in a repeat performance.” Standing up, Jane shoulders her purse and offers Herald a curt nod. “Thanks for the warning, flyboy.”

He blinks, frowning for a brief moment before a polite smile replaces it. “Take care of yourself.”

“Sure.” Jane doesn’t turn around as she books it away from the café. “You too.”

Fucking –

Piss fire!

Wait until Jane’s a block away before texting Mia.

> J: Change of plans
> 
> M: ?
> 
> J: Boys in blue crashing the party.
> 
> J: Meet me at the pier instead.

Fucking hell.

Jane rests her elbows on the railing, sun-baked metal cutting against bare skin. Her shadow falling down across the rocks below, the gentle breaking of the pacific ocean beating against shore a little further out.

Doesn’t matter what body you’re in. There’s something calming about the ocean.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Jane tenses up on reflex, watching the second shadow come up beside her. Need to relax. To stay cool. “Understandable. But I’d rather not risk certain parties listening in.”

“Hrm.” Mia’s body language is guarded. Can count on her to already have some sort of recording device running on her person. “So what did you want to talk about?”

“Anything interesting yet, in that investigation of yours?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking that of you, Ms. Jane?” Mia shifts her arms, mirroring Jane’s position leaning against the guardrail. “You’re the one that always seems to know where the next story is going to come from.”

Jane frowns, drumming her fingers against metal. “So, is that a no then?”

“The last lead I shared with you resulted in–”

“That was hardly the intention!” Jane pushes away from the guardrail, to stare face on at the reporter beside her. Fucking hell, not her too. Come on. “Don’t play dumb with me, Ochoa. You _knew_ what you were doing.”

“Maybe I did.” Mia’s voice is small. “All the more reason to stop.”

“Stop!?”

Mia’s eyes flicker towards Jane then back to the ocean. “This isn’t a partnership, and I’m not interested in being Adrestia’s attack dog.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Ochoa.” Stay calm. Don’t get mad. Don’t let anything show. You can still fix this somehow.

“Your, uh – associate doesn’t actually have a plan, does she?” Mia shakes her head. “Just grabbing targets at random… the whole anti-corruption angle is just an excuse. She’s getting people hurt and it isn’t even for anything.”

“And where do you get off being an expert?”

“You’re kidding me,” Mia scoffs, raising an eyebrow. “You saw the interview right?”

“I–”

“Not saying there’s isn’t _something_ going on.” Mia’s expression darkens. “I have my own theories. And I thought – I hoped Adrestia would help with getting to the bottom of things.”

What? This is new. Where did this come from?

Jane’s frown deepens. “What theories?”

“My mentor,” she glances around the two of you. Oh, _now_ she’s uncomfortable? “Had been working on a story. Until he got driven into early retirement over it. We still talk. Sometimes.”

Who the fuck was Ochoa’s mentor? “You going to elaborate?”

“No.” Mia doesn’t flinch away from Jane’s hard stare. Damn, the woman has more of a backbone then you’d thought. It appears you might have overestimated the moldability of this report. Shit. “Even if I still thought your associate was trustworthy, she’s clearly…”

It’s like the bottom has fallen out from under Jane. You feel dizzy, have to grab the railing to stay steady. “You’re saying she’s crazy.”

Mia winces, “Not exactly–”

“So the bitch is crazy, so what?” Jane throws her free hand into the air. “You think you can just cut ties? You think you can just – just _stop_?”

“We can always stop.”

“No.” Jane’s voice is hard, eyes narrowed. “No one stops. It’s way too late to back out now, Ochoa.”

Mia frowns, returning Jane’s expression with a grim one of her own. “Are you threatening me, Miss Jane?”

“A warning.”

“If you’re going to suddenly tell me that Marconi and–”

“No. It’s not _Adrestia_ you need to be worried about.” Jane steps back, slipping a hand under her purse strap and grasping it tight. “You take care of yourself, ace reporter. I’ll be in touch if I have any new leads.”

Jane doesn’t wait for a response before turning and leaving. Better to beat feat now before she does something stupid. More stupid, even.

Fucking hell.

Ariadne, you idiot.

* * *

Later that night finds you standing in line, at the convenience store with another gallon of chocolate fudge ice cream freezing in your hands. Jane is back to resting in her bed. In a hopefully dreamless sleep. It’s hard to feel confident about that anymore. Part of you wants to actually check in on her, while she’s out. But – what are you going to find? What do you do if you do sense something there now?

Fucking –

At least you have ice cream.

Walking down the street on the way home, you shift the bag in your hand, and – wait shit. Forgot to nudge the cashier while he was counting your change. Muttering curses under your breath you shift your shoulder and pull the wallet out of your purse, flipping through it. Sure enough, you have the correct change.

Damnit.

Almost makes you want to laugh.

Imagine Julia’s reaction, at you being mad at yourself over forgetting to steal from somebody. You don’t even need the money at this point. It’s just the principle of the thing.

God, what _is_ wrong with you?

Your phone buzzes and you almost drop the ice cream. Shaking hands dig through your bag. And lo, speak of the devil and she will call your cell-phone number. Fucking… guess you should answer.

“Hello?”

Julia’s voice comes over the phone, slightly tinny. “Hello? Ari?”

“Hi Julia.”

“Ari!” There’s a laugh on the other end of the line. “Finally! You were starting to worry me. How are you?”

“I’m…” You bite your lip. “I’ve… I’ve been better.”

“You okay?”

“Mm. It’s fine. How are you doing?”

“Well, I wanted to remind you I still needed some help with my computer issue at work but if you’ve got something going–”

You find yourself smiling despite yourself, pacing quicking slightly as the apartment complex you call home comes into view. “No, it’s fine. Sorry. I can take a look at it, sure. No problem. Does tomorrow work?”

“Tomorrow works!”

“Great.”

“Great.”

“So uh…” Fuck. How do you end this conversation? What do you say? Fuck fuck fuck – “Th–thanks for, uh, for calling?”

“Of course! I’ve missed you, these past few days.” Julia's voice takes on a reproachful tone. “Are you sure everything’s okay? I didn’t–”

“No!” You cut her off, “ I mean yes! – shit, I mean no? You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just…” Your laugh, more out of anxiety than anything else as you pick your way up the steps to the second floor. “I’m just a mess. Sorry.”

“Ari… you going to be okay? You want to come over?”

“I…” You hesitate at your door, glance down at the bag of ice cream hanging from your wrist. “I’ll be okay. See you tomorrow, Julia. I… see you tomorrow.”

You hang up before she can say anything back.


	42. tell me something true

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don’t think about what an absolutely untenable situation you’ve gotten yourself into. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[ Like 4 the Hard Way](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rmar-Qa8dzc)]

##  tell me something true

Days pass and of course you can’t avoid the Rangers forever.

A part of you doesn’t even want to.

Julia’s making sure of that now that she’s extracted all these little promises from you.

First it was ‘fix her computer’ then it turned into ‘help me sort through these old boxes,’ now it was ‘help me organize all these old files.’ At some point on the phone you joked that she ought to start paying you. She called your bluff pretty fast on that one; offered to fill out a W-2 and to start negotiating salaries.

You’re grateful actually. Between this, your cover job working the tech repair shop, and fiddling with the Regenerator you haven’t had much time to think. Thinking is the enemy right now. Well, it has always been the enemy, really. The impossibility of a future with Julia. The impossibility of a future at all. Most pressingly of all; how you utterly blew things with Dr. Mortum, –

Had it been a mistake to be honest with her? It’s hard not to feel like it was. You were honest with Argent. Will that also be a mistake? How could it _not_ be?

Lady Argent… You’re rehearsing your inevitable encounter in your head, during the dangerously mindless parts of work. Can’t afford to slip up. It’s too much to hope that you can avoid her forever. At the very least she’ll probably want progress updates. Assurances that you’re keeping up your end of the deal.

You haven’t put on your suit again since the auction, and kept Jane away from the shadier parts of town. Maybe it’s time to get back into action. Digging up leads again to… To do what exactly?

The secretary at the front desk smiles and buzzes you in with a hello. Who is it this time? Donna? No, fuck. Why is it such a struggle to remember people's names without digging into their heads? Feels weird to be recognized like this. Smiled at. It’s all wrong. The two of you trade some perfunctory small talk about the weather before you can slip away.

Forgot to ask her name. Damnit.

Elevator ride up, up, third floor. There’s so much of this new Rangers Headquarters you still haven’t touched but you’re getting to know this route like the back of your hand. Come in, say hello, hang out in the break room until Julia or Herald or whomever you are meeting on any given day.

Oh, that’s another knot to untangle. You’ve ditched Herald’s training sessions for over a month now. Is he going to want you to start training him again? Do you even want to? It’d be one more way to keep busy at least.

As you walk down the hallway, Chen steps out of a conference room, a packet of paper folded under one arm. Is he going to let you pass without comment? Please let you pass without comment.

He stops, blocking the hallway, staring you down.

It was, you suppose, too much to hope for.

“Becker.” He nods at you, mouth in his trademark tight frown. His thoughts are… hard to read, distracted from the present moment. Still on whatever meeting he just finished?

“Chen.” You answer back, crossing your arms.

“I see you’ve returned yet again. Like a bad penny.” His stance is stiff, drawing the conference room door closed behind him. Interesting. Something going on in there he doesn’t want you to see? You’re not picking up anyone else in that room.

Just shake your head. “Disappointed?”

“Hardly.”

“Well too bad for y– w–w–wait, what?” You misheard that, right?

There’s a rueful smile on Chen’s face. That can’t be right. “…certain people have grown accustomed to seeing you around.” Chen shifts his weight, uncomfortable as he talks. “I’ll be glad to have Herald and Charge off my back.”

Ah. He’s thinking about the other Rangers. Okay. Everything’s still right with the world. “Well b–breathe easy tough guy. I’m eating my wheaties.” Actually, when _was_ the last time you ate today?

Chen presses his mouth into a tight line, staring you down. “Are you… doing okay?”

“I’m… f–fine?” You frown, tilting your head and avoiding his eyes.

“You look like shit, Becker.”

Quickly pulling your hand away from the scar on your face, you narrow your eyes at him. “Just had a, uh – a bad cold is all.” You scowl, squaring your shoulders. “I – I’m fine now. Not that it’s any business of yours.

“Hrm.” Chen steps aside to let you pass him in the hallway. “Here for Ortega today?”

“Am I really th–that predictable?”

“Mhm.” Chen doesn’t give you the dignity of a proper response, heading down the hallway towards the elevator you came out of. You huff to yourself as you watch him leave. Seriously, what was that about?

Whatever.

Stupid old man with his stupid dog – where does he get off acting all concerned now? Almost think you liked him better when he was hounding you for answers all the time. At least you knew where you stood with him back then.

The break room is mercifully free of anyone today. You stretch your arms out, up and over your head as you suppress a yawn. It’s safer to wait for Julia to fetch you, but you’ve half a mind to go looking. Waiting around means time to think. And thinking is the enemy right now.

So don’t.

Don’t think. Pace the room, check the windows, still nothing, no one watching. There hardly ever is. Maybe a starry-eyed kid, once or twice, but not the kind of people you need to worry about. You crack open the fridge for want of anything to do, cool air running down your front as you lean in, sort through the shelves.

Someone’s gone through and labeled them recently. That’s a good idea. Keep everything tidy. Chen, Ortega, Becker, Sullivan, Smith – wait. You run your finger over the taped down notecard with your name on it. It’s not a full shelf, more like a basket shoved into the left side on Ortega’s shelf. But that’s your name alright. There’s some chocolate bars, an apple, one of those pre-packaged salad dinners, a pair of empty plastic containers for keeping leftovers. “W–what the fuck…?”

“Hey.” You jump with a start, slamming the fridge door shut behind you as you spin on your heel. Argent crosses her arms, unimpressed. “If I catch you stealing my food, you’re dead.”

Fuck! Letting Lady Argent sneak up on you? What the hell is wrong with you? You step away from the fridge as Argent pushes past you. “W–w–wouldn’t dream of it…”

Argent ignores you, pulling out a box of leftovers and sticking them in the microwave. It doesn’t take long for the smell to start filling the room. Chinese takeout? She keeps her back to you, watching the digital timer tick down.

“So, how’s the project going?”

You wince. Does she not get how risky it is to even dance around the subject? “It’s – uh, it’s… going. Maybe a month?”

“Maybe?”

“Depends – uh, on – on how much time I have for working on it.”

“Good, I’m getting sick of this.”

You don’t hide your frown. “Sick of what?”

“None of your business.” Argent huffs. “Surprised you’ve got the guts to keep showing up here.” There’s a transparent change of subject if you’ve seen one. What does Argent want the machine for anyway?

Nervous energy vibrates through you, a struggle to keep your face neutral. “Y–yeah, well… Jul– Ortega k–k–keeps asking me to help with shit, so…”

Argent lets out a sharp ‘hah!’

“W–what?”

“Does she know?”

It takes a moment to catch on to her meaning, at which point your eyes go wide as you wave your hands. “What? N–no! No way!”

“Typical.” Argent raps her fingers against the countertop. “You’ve been a disappointment since the day we met.”

“Excuse me?’ Okay, of all the ways you expected this conversation to go, this was not one you had anticipated.

“You have no idea how much Julia talked you up, do you?” The microwave beeps but Argent makes no move to open it. “Sidestep always came through, always saved the day. Always had some master plan to get the bad guy and keep everyone safe, on and on.”

“W–what? That’s crazy, I–”

“You were years dead by the time I met her, and she was still trying to get over you.” Argent huffs. “She’d throw herself into fights like she was expecting to die.” She shakes her head, pulling out her leftovers from the microwave and stirring the noodles before popping the container back in. “On the really bad days, she’d get blackout drunk. One of us would have to escort her home.”

You pull back, away from Argent, as you cross your arms. There’s a coldness to the woman’s thoughts that makes you tense up. The kind of cold that can sublimate into fury at a moment’s notice.

“When Julia called me out of the blue saying she had found Sidestep of all people in some dumb diner, I didn’t know what to expect.”

“Why are you t–t–telling me this?”

“Shut up, I’m not done.” Argent cuts you off. “I’ve been thinking about what I was going to say to you all week.” The microwave beeps again, and gets ignored. “After… you know,” Argent growls. “I had never felt so… Helpless. And then Julia’s legendary asshole – who I could never measure up to – was back from the dead to poke around my head and judge me?” She shakes her head, pulling out her leftovers again and finally turning to face you. “Only, guess who Sidestep turns out to be?”

You try to meet her glare, pulling from your own anger. It’s not enough. You look away first. “I’m sorry.”

“Sure you are.” Argent’s voice drips in sarcasm. “If you’re actually sorry, then return what you made me steal.”

Panic at last overrides shame. “Are you c–c–crazy?” You hiss, glancing towards the door.

Argent rolls her eyes. “Relax. I turned off the surveillance equipment before coming in here.” She waves a hand, flexing her fingers. Does she have some sort of technological ability too? What was it Ortega said about her helping secure her office? “And anyway, you could tell if someone’s coming.”

“Not Ortega!”

That gets a raised eyebrow. “Not Ortega?”

Oh. Wait. Did she not know? “Shit.” You force yourself to meet Argent’s eyes. “Uh, it’s n–n–nothing.”

“No, it’s not, what’s this about Ortega?”

“It’s nothing!” You shake your head.

She frowns, staring you down with those unnerving pupil-less eyes of her.“You’re going to destroy Julia, you know that right?” You flinch at that. Like you haven’t had that line of through running through your head nonstop even before you slept with her. “Unless that’s the whole point?” Argent narrows her eyes at you as she leans back against the windowpane. “Because don’t think I’m just going to sit around while you hurt my friends.”

“Are you two talking about me?”

You jump, heart pounding as you turn to see Julia enter the room. When did the door open? Surprised by people walking up behind you twice in one day? That’s three times too many. “J–j–julia! Hi!!”

“Hey Ari, sorry to keep you waiting.” She pulls you into a hug. It is mercifully, painfully, short. She raises a hand towards Argent. “Hey Angie.”

“Julia.” She looks pointedly at the two of you, Julia’s arm around your shoulder still. “You two made up, then?”

“Uh–” Julia glances down at you.

You can feel your face heat up as you push yourself free. “It–it–it–it’s not like that!”

There’s a sharp edge to Argent’s smile. “Oh, so you’re still fighting? I told her the dance thing was a dumb idea.”

“Uh, hey Angie,” Julia rubs the back of her neck, avoiding your questioning look. “Let’s not get into that right now?”

A strained calm settles over your panicked heartbeat. “Julia…” You strain to keep your voice steady. “W–w–what were you t–talking to Lady Argent about…?”

Her response is immediate. “Nothing!”

Argent’s laughter is as loud as it is alarming. “She wanted my romantic advice, because you and I are both, and I quote: ‘loner types.’” She even does the air quotes thing with her hands.

Wait. Julia asked her what? But Argent knows that you’re–

But then she–

But why would–

What?

You cover your face. This isn’t really happening right? Are you really this close to absolute disaster? No. No. This can’t be right. You’re missing something here, right?

Have to be.

Right??

Next to you, Julia groans. “Angie, that was in confidence…”

Okay, that’s enough.

You grab Julia by the arm and drag her out into the hallway with you. Try not to listen to Argent’s hyena laugh echoing after. Julia lets you pull her into an empty office, an apologetic smile on her face as you shut the door. “I c–c–can’t believe you.”

“In my defense, you two never talk. I thought I was safe there.” Julia rubs at the back of her neck, watching you pace the width of the office. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“I…” You stop, the anger already draining out of you. If it was even anger in the first place. “…you d–didn’t do anything wrong.” The quicker you can move past this whole mess the better.

Julia tilts her head. “Wait. So… are we not fighting then?”

“I–I–I guess not…?” You run a hand over your face, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “I just – I panicked I guess.” You pull your purse in front of you and fiddle with the straps before you start messing with your make-up any further.

There’s silence and then the creaking of wood shifting as Ortega sits down on top of the desk. “Hey, Ari…?”

You look up at her. She doesn’t quite meet your eyes, an uncharacteristically vulnerable expression on her face. “No sé cómo decir esto… You’re not like, ashamed to be seen with me, are you?”

Woah, what?

“W–w–where did that come from?”

“I know you’ve got other–” she glances at you, a reproachful look in her eyes, “–very mysterious reasons, but… You don’t want to be out in public with me, keep trying to ghost me, don’t like public PDAs, and I know you said you aren’t mad about me talking with Angie, but you definitely aren’t… okay with it either so…?” Her hands grip the edge of the desk on either side of her. “Did I mention not wanting to screw this up, before? Because I really don’t want to screw this up.”

You pull your shawl tight around you, a pain in chest and behind your eyes. “W–w–what? N–n-n-no! Julia, I–“ You can't stop yourself from giggling, which only makes you more nervous. “I have a lot of… um, a _lot_ of problems but that is – is not one of them. I swear.” You chew the inside of your check. “Hey, I promised that’d I go out somewhere fancy with you, remember?”

Julia lets out the breath she’d been holding and smiles at you, her confidence slowly returning. “That’s true, I still can’t believe you said that.”

“Y–yeah – well, I can’t believe it either. But I, um, d–did and I will.” The idea just scares the living hell out of you, you don’t add.

“Thank you. I knew I was worrying over nothing,” her smile broadens into a grin, “imagine someone being ashamed of being seen with this?” She gestures towards herself.

Shaking your head, you try not to smile. “Okay, th–that sounds more like my favorite smug idiot.”

“Oh, I’m your favorite am I?”

“Got a whole list.”

“Who’s second place?”

“Also you.” Julia takes a light swing at you, easily dodged even while giggling again. “Actually, the – the whole list is just you.”

“Alright smart-ass.” Julia shakes her head at you, not even trying to mask her smile. “You got any plans for today?”


	43. red-mouthed sinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight would be easier than this. Whatever… this is between you and Julia.   
>  Tw: past sexual abuse | cw: physical intimacy 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Cairo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7gIl9mcXA4)]

## red-mouthed sinner

“So, um. I thought this second d–date was supposed to be some, uh… to be some kind of super fancy thing.” Julia’s hand in yours feels so warm. You hope you aren’t sweating too much.

Julia’s laugh demands your attention, some indescribable feeling buzzing in your chest. “I’m still working on that one.” She pulls you along, up the steps. An echo of an old routine.

Years ago, your heart would be pounding at the thought of being alone with Ortega in her apartment. Now…? Your heart is pounding at the thought of – okay, so maybe things haven’t changed as much as you’d like to think they have.

At least you’re honest with yourself now.

Totally one-hundred percent honest.

With yourself.

“Are you cool if we just order out for pizza or something?” Julia lets go of your hand as she fiddles with the keys to unlock her door. “I forgot to do groceries yesterday.”

“F–f–forgetting things in your old age, Ortega?” You snicker as Julia takes a lazy swipe in your direction.

“Been a lot going on.”

It’s not like Julia to let a jab at her age slide like that. “Really?” You follow Julia inside, shutting the door behind you, kicking off your shoes without untying the laces. “I uh, I thought things had been quiet lately?”

“Mm.” Julia glances back at you as she drops her keys and phone on the table. “More or less,” you avoid meeting her gaze, “but that casino heist kicked up a hornet’s nest. Lots of buzzing going on.”

You frown at that. “Still? Th–that doesn’t sound good.” Buzzing? When was the last time you wore Jane to Joes? How out of touch are you?

She shakes her head, stepping closer to brush your shoulder with one hand. “Hell, Ari, you’re retired, I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.”

Have to hold your ground. Don’t back down. “If it’s bothering you, then it’s – it’s bothering me too.”

A tense second passes as you hold Julia’s gaze, like she’s making some sort of calculation. Then it breaks and she gives you a soft smile, a tilt of the head. “I am officially off the clock right now, we don’t need to talk work.”

You sigh. Fine, Julia, keep it to yourself. “W–well then, what _are_ we – we um, talking about?”

“Pizza?”

Snickering, you brush her hand away. “Very romantic.”

She laughs. “Hey! I’m still working on the next grand gesture.”

You push up your sunglasses, covering your eyes. “Oh god.” You can’t do it. Can’t keep a straight face, crack up as you take off your sunglasses. Leave them on the table with your purse and Julia’s stuff. “Alright C–c–casanova, pizza it is.”

One phone call and a fight over toppings later (Settled for two pizzas, she always wants everything but just pepperoni was always enough for you) the two of you settle in next to each other on the couch to watch TV.

Can’t resist stealing a glance at her. How is this supposed to work?

Blend into the background, hold basic conversations, be small, don’t get noticed, don’t be memorable. That was your training, and this is… everything that isn’t. How are you supposed to behave in a relationship? You’ve been going through library books for research and it all seems terrifying or absurd. God this would be so much easier if you could just read her mind.

“Ari? You’re staring.”

You freeze up, avert your eyes. “S–s–sorry! Sorry!”

Laughter rings in your ears and you shrink down into the seat. “Am I really that mesmerizing?”

You break into a fit of giggles, punch her in the shoulder. “G–g–get real you smug ass.” You run a hand through your hair, pulling at the strands as you try to get a grip on yourself.

“Hey now, it’s not everyone that can back up their hotness with a magazine award.”

Have to bite your lip to keep from smiling as you roll your eyes. “That was a – a fucking decade ago, you c–c–can’t keep clinging to that one. You resting on your laurels?”

“Well…” Julia’s hand creeps up on yours, “I don’t need to worry so much now that I’ve got you.”

You don’t move your hand away, only shake your head in disbelief. “Oh, so you’re just going to – to let it all go now? Julia Ortega, vainest woman this side of the Pacific Ocean?”

“Ouch!” She throws you an exaggerated frown. “You don’t really think that do you?”

Your smile has teeth. “Of c–c–course not, idiot. Like you’d ever stop preening.”

She gasps and shoves you hard, knocking you back on the couch. “Ariadne Becker! The nerve!”

Julia leans over you, and you can’t help but smirk back. Adversarial. Okay. This is more comfortable. You can do this kind of talk. “You like all th–th–that stuff, don’t lie.”

“Such a hypocrite.”

“Am not.”

Hands find yours, keeping you pinned to the couch. “What’s all this nonsense about covering up scars then?”

You grimace, glare up at her. “Th–that’s different.”

“How’s it different?”

“It’s about… about… well, b–being safe.” Don’t give people a reason to look closer. Don’t stand out. Contour the face just so, blend out the shadow. Just because you’re capable of wiping the floor with any random jackass doesn’t mean you want to. “I just w–w–want to be normal.”

Julia’s leaning in closer to you, and there’s a strange warmth in your gut. “What makes you think I don’t?”

You arch an eyebrow at her. It’s a struggle to keep your cool. “C–c–come on, you’re– you’re Julia Ortega. Y–you’re always amazing…”

“Is that what you think?” If her face wasn’t glowing before, she is now. Practically on top of you. “And you, Adriadne Becker–” The buzz of the doorbell cuts her off and you both freeze.

“Saved by the b–b-bell.”

Julia pulls back, freeing you to sit up. A smirk on her face as she moves to get the door. “For now.” She tosses the ominous comment over her shoulder. The warmth doesn’t dissipate.

You sink into the cushion as Julia small-talks the pizza guy. Hardly the first time she’s done this, if the current of the other guy’s thoughts are anything to go by. Hard not to think about what Argent said, about how Julia could barely hold it together while you were gone. Did your ‘dying’ really have _that_ big of an effect on her? You and Anathema both, maybe.

And now she says she’s…

You push yourself to your feet as the door shuts, making your way over to the kitchen table. Julia laughs when she sees your face, “You didn’t have to hide, you know.”

“I–” Bite your lip, shift your attention to the pizza boxes, placed side-by-side. “S’not like that…” You grumble under your breath. How are you supposed to actually know what’s going on in that head of hers?

Julia hands you a paper plate before peeling one off the stack for herself. “Uh-huh, sure.”

“It isn’t!”

“You’re like a cryptid sometimes, you know that?” She shakes her head, moving past you to open one of the boxes. “Oop, this one is yours dear.”

‘Dear?’

Julia steps aside and opens the second box, piling two slices onto her paper plate. The number of toppings threatens to slide off, taking the cheese with it. She glances over at you, “¡Date prisa! It’s gonna get cold if you just stand there.”

–––

The screen fades to black and the credits start rolling. You put your beer on the coffee table, shaking your head. “Well, uh – that was a weird movie.”

“Yeah…” Julia shakes her head, one hand rubbing at the back of her neck. “I was kind of expecting something more romantic.”

“You? Romantic?”

“Hey! I can be romantic!” Julia swats at you, only to huff as you pull back out of reach, sticking out your tongue.

“Too slow, old lady.” Laugh at the expression on her face. So indignant! “I mean, what’s with the, uh, the sudden interest in romance movies?”

She crosses her arms, “Who says it's sudden? It’s been seven years, maybe I became a big aficionado since then.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“What about you?” She grins at you. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the books in your purse.”

Eyes go wide at that one. “I–I–I don’t know what you’re talking about.” How does she always pick up on these things?

Julia leans into your space, triumphant. “Liar.”

“It’s uh – It’s been seven years…” You giggle, anxious. Can’t let her get the better of you like this. Rally, try to regain your composure. “W–what were you doing in my purse anyway? Ch–ch–checking for condoms?”

The surprise on Julia’s face mirrors your own. Oh why did you say that?

Surprise melts into a warm smile, and that might be even more terrifying. “Hey,” Julia’s voice drops, “How many beers did you have?”

“J–j–just the one!”

“Well, that’s good.” Julia’s hand finds yours as she slides up against you. “I’d hate to be taking advantage of you.”

You ignore the alarm bells ringing in your head, the heat spreading across your face. “I c–can handle myself.” You squeeze her hand, hard, to underline the point.

This is a bad idea. It was a bad idea before, when you got swept away in the heat of the moment. Once can be a mistake, twice is…

Oh – fuck it.

You lean into her, beat her to the punch and kiss her first. You’re getting better at this, if the expression on Julia’s face when you break away is any indication. Is that something to be proud of? It feels like it shouldn’t be, but you are anyway. “H–how was that?”

“Mierda, aprendes rápido. ¿No es así?”

Smirk up at her, hopefully you look more confident than you feel.“Tengo una buena maestra.”

That gets the reaction you were hoping for, with Julia kissing you again. Pushing you down, or you pulling her? Residual fears screaming in the back of your head. But if you aren’t safe with Ortega, who could you be safe with?

Don’t think about that one too hard.

Her hands are on you now, which you return in kind. Following her lead. Or just echoing if you’re feeling less generous. “This is crazy.”

Julia stops. Shit you said that out loud. “What is?”

You bite your cheek, trying not to giggle. Anxious energy tugging your face into a smile. “W–w–we can really just… do this?”

“Well… yeah? Of course.” Julia hovers, torn between pulling away from you and staying put. “Is there a problem?”

You shake your head. “N–n–no, I just–” your voice drops, “I n–never could have gotten away with something like this, uh, b–before.”

Oh, why did you say that?

Julia catches your eyes, trust her not to let that one slip by. “Oh?” A smile returns to her face, “Did you grow up in a convent or something?”

You breathe an inward sigh of relief. “P–please, have you met me?”

“Theory confirmed, then.”

“Oh f–f–fuck you.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

“I–I–I wish I c–could.” It’s not like you haven’t thought about it. Wondering late at night. Wandering thoughts to go with wandering hands.

“Oh?” Julia’s smile gains a wicked edge. “It’s really easy to do.”

“Oh god.”

“That’s later, don’t get ahead of yourself.” She cackles at your expression. “No, all you need to do is ask…” She leans down, pretty well on top of you now, lips against your ear. “Hey, you want to come to bed with me?”

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat. Ought to leave her hanging, that’ll fix her. Think’s she’s got you right where she wants you.

Well, she's right.

“O–okay, sure.”

“See?” Julia preens, pleased with herself, no doubt. “Real easy.”

She takes you by the hand, pulling you off the couch. Let her lead you along. It’s still terrifying, but not as much as before. Haven’t felt nauseous yet, so there’s a small miracle. Julia turns to you, “You still need the room dark?”

Nod your head. That’s one thing that isn’t changing any time soon. “S–sorry.”

“Hey,” She squeezes your hand. “I want you to be comfortable, remember?”

“Supposed to – to be fun, right?”

“Now you’re getting it.” Julia laughs, pushing you backwards onto the bed. You watch her walk around the room, draw the blinds shut. Why couldn’t you have been ‘normal’? Things would be so much easier. But then, Julia’s never liked doing things the easy way, has she?

The last light goes out, sending the room into darkness.

“How are we doing?” The bed shifts under you as Julia climbs on top.

“F–f–fine.” You bite your lip, “Y–you?”

“Hm… Peachy.”

You bite your lip, trying not to giggle again. “That’s my line.”

“Use it or lose it, Ari.”

Find her in the dark – oh, closer than you thought. “Ass.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath as your hands find her, the contour of her breasts under her shirt. Julia laughs, “Hey there.” You try to pull back, muttering a mortified ‘sorry,’ only to have your arm caught in her hand. “You’re fine!” Her hand runs up your arm, finds your shoulder. “You want help with those clothes?”

“I– sure???”

It’s easier, this second time around. Maybe because you’ve already done this once and lived. Maybe it’s because Julia didn’t make a show of stripping beforehand and get you worked up. Maybe – maybe it’s because there’s some part of you that lights up at the thought of Julia getting her hands on you again.

Not that it’s completely one-sided. Eager to keep Julia at parity with you. Equal footing. Or maybe you just want to touch her. Hear how her breathing changes when your hands get a little too low.

It’s almost like fighting, though you think maybe it’s better to keep that observation to yourself. Study your opponent, key in on their reactions, learn their weak points. Except, you don’t need to worry about protecting yourself. That part is harder to let go of. It’s Julia’s hands touching you, exploring. Doesn’t mean harm. Isn’t here to hurt. It’s still a strain to not pull away – to keep away thoughts of something else.

Fuck – a body is just a tool to use to get what you want. What are you even… Shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be here. You’re lying to her. About who you are. What you are. This is a distraction. You’d better spend you time working on the Regenerator, or picking a new target. Snooping around with Jane, or arranging a meeting with that reporter.

Not – not indulging yourself like this. In this fantasy that someone could love you.

“You okay?” Julia’s voice comes from a mile away.

You smile, even if she can’t see it. “P–peachy.”

“You’ve gone dead quiet.” A note of concern in her voice. Damn it, you’re messing everything up again.

“It–it–it’s fine,” you insist, more forcefully this time. “I just – this isn’t easy for me.” You fall away from her, backwards onto the bed.

Julia lays down next to you. “Okay. Do you want to try something else?”

The two of you sit there in an awkward silence for what feels like entirely too long.

You weren’t prepared for this part. The sheer amount of talking involved with being with someone – with Julia. TV, Movies, even books made it all seem so easy. Like everyone just knew what to do without ever having to be taught. A whirl of limbs and discarded clothes, pressing bodies together, insert tab A into slot B.

But nothing feels right. Can’t keep yourself from freezing up when Julia’s reaching out to you. It’s not like you don’t want to! It feels good – under the panic. But how do you navigate whatever maze of pitfalls you’ve ensconced yourself in? It’s not like you know any better than Julia does. The most you’ve ever done is –

“Ari?”

“S–sorry…”

A hand finds your face, an attempt at reassurance. “Hey, it’s okay…”

“Um–” You take a deep breath, you’re jumping off a ledge with this one. “I–I–I’ve got one idea…”

“Alright, what’s up?” Curiosity in her voice.

“C–can I, um, touch you?”

That gets a laugh. “That’s half the fun isn’t it?”

“W–what’s the other half?”

Her response is low, breathy. “Me touching you.”

Okay, you have to admit you walked into that one. But you’ll get your revenge soon enough. Tracing the outline of her body, you shift closer to her. “Y–you're uh – you’re warm.”

“And your hands are like ice cubes!” She lands a peck on your cheek, missing your lips. “I’m beginning to understand how you survive with all those layers.”

Bite your lip, fight a smile. “I–I–I’m actually part lizard.”

“I’d believe it.”

Find her again in the void, trace her hips, the curve of the scar across her abdomen. Memory of an almost-end you saved her from too many years ago. Dip lower, hesitate. “I–is this okay?”

A hand finds yours, pressing you against her. Guess that’s your answer.

The trick, which you learn quickly, is not to think about it too hard. Another way this is like a fight. Focus on the sound of her breathing, how her breath catches in her throat as you rub against her. Her breath is hot against your neck as you finger her clit.

Can’t believe you're doing this…!

Can’t believe she’s _letting_ you do this…!

Can’t believe the groan of disappointment that escape’s her mouth as you pause for a second and shift position, find her breast with your free hand, massaging the skin. Julia’s breathing starts to quicken, rocking against your hand. You freeze up, worried you somehow set off a panic attack only to have Julia growl, frustrated with you. Oh. Right, normal people don’t – “Don’t stop now, jackass.”

“S–sorry!” Thankfully she can’t see your manic grin in the dark. Push her over the edge, feeling the way her body tenses and changes under your hands. Julia moans against your ear, and you could just drop dead there on the spot. You’re not sure you ever understood what people meant by ‘hot’ until this moment; because you feel like you’ve been out under the sun for hours. You’re dying for someone to touch you.

Julia shifts against you, as she already knows. “You want me to return the favor?”

“I–” It takes a beat to find your voice again, “y–yes???” If you die in this bed, will it have been worth it? Yes. Yes it will have been worth it.

“Do you have a preference?”

“Um–” You balk. “It–It–it’d be easier just to– just to show you?” Your voice pitches upwards towards the end. Are you seriously thinking about doing this? Are you crazy?

“How?” She doesn’t hide her amusement. She’s dragging this out on purpose isn’t she.

“Hands.”

“Alright.” Her hand finds yours, tracing the scars down your arm. “Show away, Ari.”

“Fuck.” You mutter under your breath. This is crazy. You’re being crazy. Why would she want to touch there? Why would anyone? It’s gross. Don’t be gross Ari.

Try not to grip Julia’s hand too tightly. Put her hand on your leg, pull it up slowly so it doesn’t come as a complete surprise. Plenty of time to change her mind, pull away, come to her senses.

She doesn’t do any of that. Lets you guide her hand up over your boyshorts. Her fingers twitch against you and it’s an act of will to stay still. “Um–”

“I thought you wanted to keep your underwear on?”

“I do! I j–j–j–just–”

“Okay, okay.” She laughs. If you could die right now, that would be great, thanks. “So… what do you want me to…?”

Why does it feel like you’re signing your death warrant? “If y–you– if you want.” You manage to squeak out. “It d–d–doesn’t um… it doesn’t get– uh, hard?” It’s a struggle to force out the words, barely a whisper. “Th–that’s uh– that’s normal…”

“Oh. Okay.” Julia whispers back to you, in the dark, and you can feel her fingers brush against you through the fabric. Just her touch alone is overwhelming. “What – hrm, what should I call it?”

“Um.” Panic threatens to overwhelm you. Never thought about that before. Didn’t think you’d actually get this far. “I–I–I don’t know…?

“Okay,” Julia says, taking this in far better stride than you have any right to expect. “What should I do?”

“J–just… rub it, I guess?” Julia’s hand shifts against you, feeling for the waistband. You have to quickly grab her wrist, panic rising up your throat. “N–n–no! Uh, not– not like that. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Or so she says, she sounds vexed. “What do you usually do?”

Oh god.

“Um–”

Julia guides your hand. “Do you want to just show me?”

She says it so casually! You could faint. Dissolve into the sea. Sink into the earth. “I just–” You shift your hand under Julia’s, pressing against yourself. “…like this?”

“Oh. I get what you meant now.” There’s a terrifying chuckle. “I should have figured.” Julia takes over from you and you squirm under her touch. Her hand pressing against you through the fabric, fingers running along, rubbing against – fuck. It’s not like you have a wealth of data to compare against, but the difference just in having her touch is – you curse at yourself.

“You okay there?”

“F–f–f–fine!” You squeak out, getting a laugh in reply. This is it. You’ve officially lost your mind, Ariadne. But it’s increasingly hard to care over how your body is reacting to Julia’s touch.

You reach out a hand for her, brush against the curve of her breast only to immediately pull back. “Sorry!”

“Hey, it’s fine! You can touch me.” Julia laughs, her hand still down there, and… it’s difficult to think about anything else. “Getting greedy, are we?”

“M–m–maybe.” You reach out to her again, brush against her skin. Way too warm, way too close. “D–doesn’t seem fair?”

“And when have you ever cared about fair play?”

“I’m t–t–trying.” You hiss back at her.

“I’m joking, relax.” More laughter while your face burns to the ground. “Oh, hold that thought, I have an idea.” What? No, don’t stop.

“W–w–what?” You don’t like how she purred the word ‘idea.’ Julia lets go of you, reaching up over your face in the dark, you can hear stuff shift around on her nightstand. A kernel of panic seizes up through you. You just have to trust she won’t turn on the light, see the– her boob hits you in the face as Julia pulls open a drawer.

“Whoops, sorry!” She shifts to the side.

You shrink into the bed. “It’s– it’s fine.” Your hand finds her hip, safer territory, tracing the outline of her shape as you run your hand down her thigh. The years of scars – faded ridges. Try to calm your heart. Get a grip Chickadee.

“Found the vibe,” Julia says as she pulls back. “Don’t worry, it’s clean.”

“What?”

“Oh honey, please tell me you know what a vibe is.”

“I–I–I know what a vi-vibrator is,” You hiss. “I’m– I’m hopeless, not innocent.”

“Oh?” Julia says, a lilt to her voice. “Is that so?” You hear a quiet buzzing start up, oh god. “Then you won’t mind this?”

“W–what are you–” You suck in your breath as she presses something that is decidedly not her hand just below your belly-button, it’s vibrations traveling across your skin as she drags it down, down, resting against you. You have to grab at the bedsheets, dig your fingers into Julia’s thigh, ground yourself.

Julia laughs, “Ow, easy there!” She leans down over you, awkwardly sandwiching the vibrator against skin on both sides as she kisses your neck. You try to say something as she bites your skin, but it’s incoherent, even for you. You try to counter with a hand in her hair. the other wrapped around her torso. If this was a fight, it’s one you’re losing. Badly.

“F–f–f–fuck–” You breathe out, shaky, unfocused. Pull against her, it feels like you must be piloting some other body – it can’t be yours doing this, feeling like this. Outsider, looking in. That’s unsettling enough a thought to pull you out of it. Force some distance between the two of you.

Julia switches the vibrator off, “Ari? You okay?” Fuck. Worried again. Always worried. What are you supposed to do with worry?

“I’m sorry, I–I–I’m sorry – sorry…”

“Ari.” A hand finds your face again, fingers entwining into your hair. “What on earth are you apologizing for?”

For lying. For giving up. For hiding. For not being good enough. For not being able to do more. For not being a real person.

You can’t say any of that though.

Instead you shift your arms around again, pulling Julia down beside you onto the bed. Press tight against her, feel her body heat against yours. She takes the cue, wrapping an arm over you, holding you tight. “I–I–I thought it– I thought it’d be fine?” You confess.

“Hey, I’m good with whatever pace you want to take.”

You grit your teeth at that. “D–don’t be such a saint, Julia. W–w–what if I never get there?”

“Well… we’ll burn that bridge if we come to it.”

“I… I w–want you to promise me something…”

“Done.”

“Idiot. Hear me – hear me out first.” You take a breath, try to calm your heartbeat. “If I– if something… happens to–to–to me… then – then forget about me okay?”

“Where is this coming from?” Her arm over you pulls you tighter. “Absolutely not. What are you saying?”

“P–please. Don’t w–waste another seven y–years of your life. Let it – let me go. Move on.”

“Do I need to start escorting you to therapy again? I’m not giving up on you, Ari.”

“I j–just want you to… to–to–to…” Your voice cracks, pressure in your eyes. “I want you to be happy.”

“Ass, what makes you think I could ever be happy without you?”

“I’m not – jesus, I’m n–n–not planning on doing something.” You blink your eyes furiously. “It’s just… if something d–did happen… I don’t want to–to be what holds you back.”


	44. this is what i've come to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re on the job here; don’t let your mind wander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[The Chattering Lack of Common Sense](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksW7SuH6IAs)]

##  this is what i’ve come to be

You extract yourself from Julia’s bed not long after that. Carefully dressing in the dark. She’s not shy about wanting you to stick around, but you can’t. Not tonight. Not ever. It’s too… you aren’t ready. She’ll know. She’ll know and she’ll hate you. And she’ll be right to.

This part of the city makes for a long walk to your lair, but a pair of taxi cabs shortens the distance somewhat. Empty minutes stretching by. Your attention flits across the passing figures outside the car. Anything to avoid thinking about the tightness of arms around you, Julia’s

You slink into the back room of the repair shop, shrugging off your purse. drop it on a patch of precious free space in the pile of mismatched metal parts scattered across the workbench. Initial assessments of the regenerator plans were proving promising. It would have been a bad look if it turned out you couldn’t build it after all. How would _that_ conversation with Argent go? One more disappointment for her, you suppose.

Maybe she should expect it from you by now.

Still no word from Dr. Mortum to Jane. Has it already been a week? Two? You can’t remember. Everything blurs together, the world at a distance. Every day that goes by without the full force of the Farm descending on your head feels impossible – stolen somehow.

The break room you stumble into has a tiny kitchenette with a fridge and microwave. You don’t bother keeping much in there, some junk food at best. Something to shut the body up with so you can keep working. It’s more for Marcie’s benefit than your own. Just a completely normal repair shop, nothing untoward happening here.

The fridge door creaks open as you pull the handle back. Can’t remember; did you leave that can of soda here? The inside is pretty sparse. A couple candy bars, some bottled water, some plastic containers of Marcie’s leftovers that she brings in for work. Each one has its own neatly written label, ‘Mon,’ ‘Tue,’ ‘Ari,’ ‘Wed.’

Wait.

You blink, hand reaching out, hesitating to grab. Really? Fucking really? First the Rangers, now goddamn _Marcie_? You’ve barely talked to the woman. Barely even scanned her thoughts except to make sure she doesn’t suspect anything.

Sure seems to _hope_ for there to be more going on here, but so far you’ve managed to keep her disappointed. But why is she…? Letting your hand drop, you shut the fridge door. The old lady is long gone for the night, but you can imagine Marcie’s thoughts out at the front desk, the feeling of the phone line wrapping around her finger as she talks to some friend of hers. Local gossip. Like some other world, some other city you’ve never been privy to. Free of any concern over boosts and mods.

Suppose she’s good to have around at least for that, if nothing else. A reminder of how alien you are to human beings.

Bereft of soda, you covertly retreat to the secret half of the workshop. Sliding past the false wall, opened just barely enough for you to squeak through. The Regenerator takes up the bulk of the cramped space, loose pieces scattered across the nearby workbench. No more distractions. Put all thoughts of Marcie and normalcy out of your mind. Without your Jane–Dr. Mortum connection to draw on, it’s time to suit up and do some shopping of your own tonight.

Do it quietly. Do it clean.

There’s no need to fight anyone tonight. No need for grandstanding. No impassioned speeches to deliver, or pointed agendas to push. Just flitting from shadow to shadow, redirecting security’s attention as you go. There’s not much of a political agenda to push in robbing a warehouse. Not for computer parts anyway.

Well – okay, you could probably loop it into some kind of anti-capitalist, anti--government screed if you had too. Keep that one in the back pocket in case you get caught in the act maybe.

Still have to figure out who your new crowbar is going to be. Need to pick your next tool carefully. Someone sure is keen on hammering them down. If you could get some clue as to who… maybe you could hammer back. But who? The field’s wide open as it is.

Your thoughts are fully elsewhere, thinking about your next move as you step into the warehouse office. The manager on duty collapsed into a deep sleep in his chair. Did you do that? Must have. Gently roll the chair away from the computer. Still logged in, nice. Should be able to quickly scan through and locate what you need.

The specific type of circuit board the regenerator is meant to operate one is a year or two out of date at this point. But Los Diablos is all about doing things as cheaply as possible. There’s always piles of obsolete garbage waiting to get conned off onto somebody.

There, Bay H5. Got ‘em.

You give the near-comatose guard a pat on the shoulder as you turn to walk out. Thanks buddy.

Figuring this out would be a lot easier if you weren’t doing it alone. Julia’s right there and she – It’s too much to hope for, right? That Julia could be won over. She’s devoted her life to the Rangers. She’s a hero, through and through. She’s the real deal. And she… she doesn’t get it. Does she _really_ believe she can save everyone? You know that’s not true. You’ve been there. The people you were too late for. The mistakes, the wrong moves, the misjudgements…

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t – You take a step back as you eye up the masked figure blocking the exit. Who? When? Fuck, pay attention chickadee. Running an operation on autopilot like this. Sloppy. Fucking sloppy. You frown under your helmet, “Step aside sweetheart, you’re in the way.”

They’re clearly trembling, but they stay in place. “I’m not afraid of you, Banshee!” They yell, voice cracking.

You sigh, “It’s Adrestia, damnit.” You tilt your head, rifling through their thoughts for clues. Not a Ranger, not one the mayor’s attack dogs, so who…? “Wait. You’re just–“

_“–a kid!?” Steel stares down at you, the frown deepening on his face. He turns to Ortega. “How could you let a kid fight?”_

_You huff, crossing your arms. You’re getting sick of this complaint. Where are people getting this idea from? “I’m not–“_

“-a kid!” They shout back at you. Taking a deep breath and raising their fists. The mixture of fear and determination pouring off them is both uncomfortably familiar and practically tangible.

You loosen your stance, not completely, but enough to not look like you’re about to attack. Can’t let your guard down, but – does this kid even know how to fight? “What do you think you’re doing here? Christ – How old are you, even?” Is your confusion audible through the vocal distortion – doesn’t matter, the twerp can’t even get their stance right.

You can see their eyes through the mask shifting to the street light shining through the open door and back to you. “I’m not telling you anything.” A newbie – no, hasn’t ever been in a fight it looks like. Not even a newbie then, a wanna be.

“I _said_ , how old are you?” You repeat, adding some telepathic weight to your words.

“I’m eighteen.” Their answer comes as a surprise to themself, spilling out unbidden. A spike of alarm in their thoughts at that. Do they get it yet?

You frown behind your helmet. “What’s the deal, kid? What are you trying to prove?” You take a step forward and they rush you. It doesn’t even deserve to be called a fight. You grab them by the arm and twist behind, kicking them to the floor. You put a boot on their back, pinning them to the floor. “Trust me, you don’t–“

_“-want this.” Chelsea looks at you worried, as she cleans the cut on your lip.”This isn’t a life, it’s a death sentence.”_

_“I made a difference today.” You insist, flinching from the antiseptic. Hold Chelsea’s gaze as she frowns into your face. She doesn’t understand, can’t understand really. This is what you were made for._

_“Did you?” Chelsea’s voice is cold. “You beat up some guys until the Rangers came and took them to jail. If you want to make a difference, there’s plenty of real, tangible, things you could do.”_

_“I can do this. You saw me out there.” It’s not easy, holding your gaze up like this. Not turning away. Chelsea’s a good person, but you’re done letting other people decide what you should and shouldn’t do._

_She steps back, away from you, twisting a rag in her hands. Thoughts shot through with guilt and anxiety. “And I was worried sick the whole time. You’re still young Alex. Live your life, get a boy-”_

“-friend, stay up too late, sneak into R-rated movies. Get drunk with your friends.” You look down at the kid and cross your arms. You feel tired. And old. “Life’s… already too short as it is. Being some kind of hot-shot vigilante isn’t a life, it’s a death sentence.”

The kid stays down. Shaken thoughts running a mile a minute through their head.

You sigh, letting up your foot. “You survived the hero drug, count your lucky stars and get therapy or something.” It’s pointless. Can already feel your words sliding off. Déjà vu. Ugh. Stupid. Stupid to care. Stupid to think about them getting back up and throwing themselves into a machine that won’t gave a damn about them.

Leaning into the Rat-King’s support you grab the threads of the kid’s thoughts, pull them tight Their body goes limp, out cold. At least they won’t hurt themselves tonight. Sometimes that’s all you can do.

You don’t waste any more time, rifling through boxes until you have what you need. If some amatuer could stumble across you tonight, best to assume you’ve been had somehow. A quick mental scan of the area doesn’t ring any alarms, now that you’re back in the present. You’ve got what you needed out of tonight. And no one needed to get maimed, or traumatized. No Rangers needed to be fought.

More or less.

That kid…

No! Wrap it up and put it in a box for later. Don’t think about it Don’t think about anything except what’s right in front of you. Slip through the open door, and slink into the city gloom. There’s plenty of night left, and you’ve got a miracle machine to assemble.

* * *

Your lungs ache, chest heaving as you pull yourself up against the wall. The street has cleared out, leaving just you and the body-builder of a man glaring at you from across the road. “You’ve got guts, kid.” He snickers, shaking his head while cracking his knuckles. “But you should have known better than to put the hammer to the Raging Bull on his own turf.”

God. What kind of fucking name is ‘raging bull?’ Gritting your teeth, you adjust the handkerchief covering your lower face, making sure it’s still in place. “Wh–what you're doing… is wrong.”

He laughs, “Says who, tinkerbell?”

Bully. Brute. Jack-ass. You know his type. Think he’s entitled to the world, thinks he’s powerful. Better than anyone else. And dying to show it. Well, you don’t have to nod and smile along anymore.

You reach into your pocket, thumbing the hilt of a dagger. “Me.” Pulling back your hand, you hold your breath, lining your shot. Before you can let fly, a hand grabs your wrist. Gently, but firmly. Bare skin warm to the touch.

“Woah, Sidestep, hold on.” Anathema cracks a nervous smile as you turn to face her.

“I had it handled!” You glower at her, glaring down at the shadow you cast in the light of the setting sun shining through the conference room window. “You’re – you’re not my boss. I – I don’t have to answer to you.”

“How do you think Charge would feel if you shot someone by accident with that plasma caster after she arranged for you to keep it?”

You flinch.

“Sidestep…” Anathema chuckles, anxious thoughts running through her head as she spreads her hands wide. “Someone could have really gotten hurt today. I’m just saying, your–”

“–performance could use some further refinement.” You purse your lips, fingernails tapping against the clipboard held in your other hand. With a cold eye, you look over the restrained figure on the hospital bed. Orange tattoos shine under the thin modesty gown. It’s unsettling, sometimes, how human they look. “The tests _do_ look promising, but what I need are results.”

Your assistant nods his head obediently. One hand smoothing down the front of his white lab coat. “Carol and Susan are making adjustments to the gates after the last test pulled everything out of alignment, but we should be ready by tomorrow.”

“Good.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, wrinkling your face in disgust. “And for the love of God, make sure the restraints are in place this time. We can’t afford these constant setbacks.” If it wasn’t one thing it was another. Sick of these screw ups, not now. Not when you’re so close.

Frowning, you stare down at the figure, the lines red where leather bites into skin. But otherwise it(she) lays limp, shallow breaths betrayed by the gradual rise and fall of the chest. Curious, the extent it went to self-modify in the wild. Trying to hide? Evidence of the programming breaking down from lack of active maintenance?

“And skip the dose for today.” You nod your head in the subject’s direction. “I want to be ready to go ASAP tomorrow. It takes too long to let things flush out.”

“But–”

Groaning, you wave him away. “Just take care of it, Marco. I don’t pay you to think.” You brush your hand against the thing’s face, warm fingers on clammy skin. Goosebumps running down the back of your neck, the sensation of something brushing your forehead. Her forehead. Not yours. You’re not on the bed. You’re not. You’re not. You’re in charge here. You’re in control. Tomorrow will go fine.

No one ever made it big without cutting a few corners.

You jerk away with a start, cold chills running down your back.

Dreaming?

It’s already falling away from you. Labcoats and cold skin, fuzzy images you’re already rushing to push out of your head. What were you doing? Where are you?

Yawning you rub at your eyes as you crane your head around, stretch out your legs from under you. Your lair. At your workbench. The car wreck you call a memory slowly fills in the details. You’re safe. You’re home. Or if not home, the second closest thing to it. Did you really fall asleep in the middle of assembling the regenerator?

“Hrm.” Blinking sand out of your eyes you find the assembly guide to your right, one end tucked under the toolbox to hold it open. So then the assembly in front of you is… You blink. Frown. Turn the motherboard over in your hands comparing it to the sheet of instructions.

Wait.

Shit!

“Ah, fucking goddamnit.” You force yourself to gently place the expensive component down on the table. How the fuck did you put it together upside down?

You’re going to need some serious caffeine.


	45. the runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don’t be such a hero.  
> Tw emetophobia,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Comeback Kid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h4mewwymxbI)]

##  the runaway

“You know, I don’t remember you guys having _nearly_ this much paperwork.” You groan as you get to your feet. A pulsating soreness in your left knee. 

There’s a sinking pit in your stomach as you put on a smile for Julia and step towards the door. “I really ought to get going soon.”

Every time you visit Rangers HQ it feels like the hair on the back of your neck is standing on end. Shouldn’t you be used to being here by now? But it’s… you can’t forget: how much you don’t belong here. With these people. It’s not funny anymore – how oblivious everyone is. There’s no rush to lying to these people that think they know you. Thinking that they can trust you.

“You sure?” Julia looks up from the folder in her hands, half distracted by whatever collection of paper is inside.

“Well.” You allow yourself a laugh. “I can’t spend _all_ my time in your shadow.”

“Wouldn’t hurt you to get a little more sunlight.” Julia puts the folder aside and looks down at the array of cardboard boxes taking up all by a narrow aisle of floorspace in Ortega’s already cramped office. “Thanks for helping me sort these.”

“S–sure.” You gesture towards the closest box. “It was… interesting. I – uh, I didn’t realize the Rangers kept so many paper records.”

“Not as much anymore.” Julia frowns. “A lot changed when we moved buildings.”

You had noticed. Half the reason you’d agreed to help in the first place had been the possibility to snoop a little further into what the Rangers had been up to. “Did we find the specific record you were hoping to turn up?”

“No, actually.” She frowns, reaching a free hand back to scratch at the back of her neck. “But that’s just as educational in it’s way.”

You shift your hands to pull your shawl closed, unease starting to gnaw at you. “Someone hiding something?”

Julia gives you a rueful look. One you’d almost swear was accusatory. “Isn’t that always the case?” With a groan she sits back in the chair, metal joints creaking under her. “Thanks for the help today at least. I really do appreciate it.”

You mirror her look. “I’m just happy to keep you inside where it’s safe.” Nevermind fretting over whether _you_ will have to fight her again, now you also need to worry about the goddamn Catastrofiend taking another go at her.

“Ari, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” She grins, running a hand through her hair. “Don’t be such a mom.”

You huff. “Well f–f–fuck you then.”

“Is that what you want?”

Heat floods your face as your eyes go wide.

Julia laughs, shaking her head. “I’ll call you later tonight?”

“S–sure.” This part still feels weird. The expectation of contact. Of not being able to just melt back into the crowd. Suppose you haven’t been able to get away with doing that from the moment she found you in that diner last year. But it feels different now. An anticipatory lightness in your chest.

You pause at the door, hand on the handle as you look back at Ortega. Still smiling at you. Evoking memories of skin under your fingers, breath on neck. A running of goosebumps down your arms. You tense your arm, hesitating “H–hey. Um. About… about Banshee…”

She doesn’t stop looking at you, damn her. “Banshee? You mean Adrestia? What about them?”

“Y–you.. You fought them again, recently, didn’t you?” You have to grip the doorknob to keep your balance. Fighting vertigo. What the fuck are you doing Ariadne? But she – she deserves to…

“I don’t know about ‘recently’ but yeah.” There’s a curious tone to Julia’s voice. Confusion laced with worry. “Just before that casino fiasco. They’ve been keeping a low profile since then.”

“Yeah.” You swallow, mouth going dry. “D–do you… do you have any better idea now, whether they’re a killer?”

“Huh?” What does Julia’s face look like right now? You can’t bring yourself to lift your head to find out. Steadying the grain in the floorboards. “Oh, I…” Her voice goes soft. “I don’t think they are, no.” There’s a sigh. “No, I… I’m sure of it.”

What? After that whole fiasco she still – “How can you be so sure?”

“It’s… a feeling. Call it a hunch.”

A tense second passes between the two of you, your heart pounding against your chest. “Do… do you think I’m a killer?”

“What?” Julia’s voice pitches upward in alarm. “Ari, what brought this on?”

“We–” Your voice cracks. Can feel your free hand shaking as you grab the edge of your shawl. “We never talked about it.”

“Talked about– oh.” There’s the sound of shifting metal and footsteps towards you. “Oh, Ari. I didn’t even… have you been dwelling on that this whole time? I–”

“Why wouldn’t I be!?” You can feel something bubbling up inside you, acidic and burning. “I – we just pretended nothing ever happened! We never talked about it… and I… I…”

A hand touches your shoulder, the soft contact feeling like a knife cutting through your skin. “Ari, I… I know how hard it is. I had just wanted to give you some space.”

“And then I threw myself out a window.” You spit the words out. Tensing every muscle in your body, willing yourself to stay standing. To keep burning.

“That wasn’t you. That was Heartbreak. And it was my fault for letting you go in.”

“Was it? Did – didn’t I deserve it? After everything and then I…” You feel yourself collapse onto Julia. She takes a step backwards under your weight, arms holding you up. “I wanted to quit. After that.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Ari… I’ll always be proud of you.”

Bile burns the back of your throat. “It’s… wrong to lie like that, you know.”

Hands guide you back over to Julia’s seat, sitting you down as Julia crouches in front of you. “Good thing I’m not lying then.”

Her smile feels like a second knife to your chest. “What – what’s wrong with you?”

Julia’s smile disappears.

“You should have… I saw the report file, when we went through everything today.”

“Ari–”

“You lied. You said The Void died in the firefight. Why didn’t you–”

“Because e was right!” Julia’s face twists, conflicted emotions flickering back and forth. “How do you hold someone that can teleport like that? They’d just get free again and you _saw_ what kind of operation they were running. And…” Her voice falters and she looks away from you. “I never should have made you ride in the back with em.”

“We worried Void would get free. I _offered_ to sit back there.”

“It was still my responsibility.”

“Goddamnit Julia,” You shove your chair backwards as you get to your feet again. “Not everything is your fault! I fucked up! I lost control! I did it! You can’t keep holding yourself responsible for everything that goes wrong!”

“I was the Marshal! It was my job to be responsible!”

“Bullshit!” You swallow back another wave of bile burning your throat, willing your knees to stop shaking. “I–I–I _murdered_ someone, Julia. You shouldn’t have covered for me!”

“You were provoked–”

“That–that–that doesn’t make it okay! Fuck – Julia, I… I still…” Can still remember the last fading thoughts in The Void’s mind. The pained satisfaction matching the snide look on eir face…

“I was protecting you! Ariadne, the amount of scrutiny that heroes get after something like that would have destroyed you.”

“Oh fat lot of good that did me. I got a year of hiding how shitty I felt by playing goddamn roller derby and then threw myself out of a window anyway. You didn’t protect me from anything Julia! You can’t save everybody! It’s not your job!”

“Of course it is! I’m a Ranger!”

“You’re just a human being!” Your voice cracks. When did your vision get so blurry? You rub a palm at your eyes.

“Ari…” Julia’s voice drops back down to a softer register. “You’re not the only hero to have killed someone, you know.”

You tense up.

Julia continues; “I’m sorry, I should have–”

“Shut up.” You cut her off before she can say anything else, take on anything else. “Not – not everything’s your fault, you don’t – it’s not your job to fix everything. To – to fix me.”

Arms embrace you again, Julia’s head pressing against yours. “Doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

“You – you really need to…” You force a weak laugh, “talk to your therapist about this martyr complex of yours.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

“Y–yeah well…” You disentangle yourself, shaky breaths as your nose threatens to keep running on you.

“Hey,” Julia’s right hand lingers on your shoulder. “Thank you.”

You furrow your brow, blinking at her. “For what?”

“For telling me how you felt.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper the words, looking away towards the door. It doesn’t feel like you made much of a choice here. Once again you’ve let your emotions get the better of you. “I… I think I need to be by myself for a bit.”

“Okay.” Julia nods, looking similarly somber. “At least text me that you got home?”

“Okay.” You step away from her, putting your hand on the doorknob. “See – see you, um. Later. I – uh, well. Bye.” You flee out the door before Julia can give a response.

A weary tiredness buzzes in your chest and stomach as you follow the hallway back to the elevator. You even have your own passkey for the elevator now – although it’s only good for certain floors. Ortega’s right. A lot has changed with this new building. Don’t like that. Don’t like being tracked like that one bit. Surprised Julia puts up with it. Or any other of the half-dozen different little security measures that have popped up in your seven year absence.

All the security checks, the scanners, the bored security guards thinking they’ve got the easiest job on the circuit… What were all these things actually for?

After all, if they actually worked, it should have kept you out.

The Elevator pings as it arives and – Ah fuck. You already know who’s on the other side of the doors before they even open.

“Ariadne!” Pleasant notes of surprise ring in Herald’s head at your appearance. He steps aside to let you into the elevator. With a carefully neutral face, you take a space a respectful distance from him. 

Herald just smiles, all pleasant sunshine as usual. “I was hoping to catch you actually.”

“Don’t normally bother with elevators, wonderbread?” You watch him fidget, the way the floor suddenly rises to meet his feet as the elevator starts moving again.

Herald laughs, a hand on in the back of his neck. “I was actually hoping to catch you before you got caught up in something else.”

“Oh?” You keep your voice light, conversational. “Well, you’ve got me cornered.”

“So mind the walls, right?”

“You remembered.”

“More like my shoulder did.”

Shrug, you keep your voice light and avoid his face. “That’s how lessons are learned.”

“It’s great to see you around again. Speaking of which, is everything okay?”

There we go. The question that’s been burning in his head since the moment he saw you. “I wasn’t feeling well… the uh, the last time we met.” A half-truth at best and one you don’t offer any further explanation for.

“Right. Okay… I’m glad you’re doing better?”

You grunt, shift your hip as you cross your arms under your shawl. Why did you take off the sunglasses? Easier to hide where your eyes are looking that way. Idiot. “So…”

The elevator stops and Herald glances at you, “Headed out too?”

“Mm. Lucky me.”

Following after him, you let yourself lag behind. Herald half walks, half hovers down the hallway. Not quite sure what to make of that gait. Still favoring the bad knee a little. Is it habit at this point or lasting damage? The Rangers get some of the best healthcare in the city. If they can’t undo what you did, is it even possible?

“Hey, um…” Herald’s voice pulls your head back up to his face. He looks back towards you over his shoulder. “I had been wanting to ask–”

Oh no. You can feel the sunbeams starting to scorch already. Gotta shutter the windows fast. “Are you that eager to have me beat you up again?” As soon the words leave your mouth you cringe at yourself.

What the fuck? Why did you phrase it like that Ariadne?

Herald’s laugh has a tinge of anxiety to it as he stops and turns to face you before the break room door. “I think I was holding my own better than that. But if you’re offering to pick back up again…”

Should you? It would be another thing to fill your time with instead of vibrating in dread over the inevitable collapse of this house of cards you call a life. Fuck it. “Yeah. Sure. Why not. Same time as before?”

“Great!” A note of relief as Herald visibly relaxes. “Actually, do you have time right now?”

You blink. “I don’t drink coffee.”

“Oh.” He blinks back at you. Don’t usually don’t preempt his thoughts like that. Not the best of manners. Herald’s brow creases. “Tea?”

You narrow your eyes at him as the two of you pass through the security checkpoint and into the atrium. Only looking away to glance towards the doors. “What’s your game here, wonderbread?”

“No game!” He waves his hands, “I”m just…”

Worried. He’s worried.

Because you’re a worrying person. A pathetic, dsturbed, worrying individual.

You chew your cheek, slipping one hand into your purse to retrieve your sunglasses. The earlier lightness is gone now, replaced by a lead weight and the feeling of bile in your throat. “It’s fine. I told you.”

“But–”

“Oh don’t be such a goddamn _hero_ Herald.” You face twists in a snarl as you turn away from him. “I said I would help, and I’ll be there. 10 o’clock sharp.” 

You need to get out of here before one of you does something you’ll regret.


	46. who am i to try to lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why can’t you just stop?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Outlaw](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WR1E2MccLa8)]

##  who am I to try to lie

An hour later sees you sitting down for another weekly session with Dr. Finch. You return her smile with a weak one of your own, still feeling out of it after the argument with Julia. It would hurt less if you just cut yourself off from her. Wouldn’t it? Stopped this whole charade of humanity and gave up completely.

“Ariadne?”

You look up with a jolt, blinking something wet out of your eyes. Ah, fuck. “S–sorry.”

“How are you doing today?” Dr. Finch crosses her legs as she sits in her chair, one hand fiddling with a pen between her fingers. A notebook sits open across her lap. What exactly has she written down in there? You’re afraid to find out.

“I… well. You know.” You drop your hands into your lap, looking away from her. “There’s been better days, but I’m doing okay.”

“How are things going with Ms. Ortega?”

“Oh.” Your voice drops. Goddamnit. “Um. Actually, we… we just had a fight? Or–” You make yourself laugh, “I kind of just… yelled at her. I guess. And then she…” You crinkle your nose, “she thanked me for it?”

Finch nods her head, “She thanked you?”

“That’s got to be wrong, right? She should be… she should be mad back at me.”

“Do you want her to be mad at you?”

“Shouldn’t she?” You chew your cheek as you trace patterns on your thigh. “I was… she’s trying to – to help. I _know_ that. But I d–d–don’t–” You cut yourself off, throat aching, threatening to close tight on you.

Dr. Finch sits there in silence, waiting for you to start speaking again. You don’t know how she does it. Knowing when to prompt and when to wait. She could be up there with some of the Farm’s best interrogators.

“Not–” You wince. “Not every mistake deserves forgiveness. You know? Not everything can be… be fixed. Made better. Some things… you can never make good.” You can’t undo the possessions, the scars, can’t bring back the dead. Ochoa thinks she can walk things back, that things can stop. Maybe she can. But only because you won’t force the issue.

You don’t have that luxury.

“Why do you feel you don’t deserve forgiveness?”

You blink, fighting vertigo. Should have seen that question coming, the chain of logic piecing together in Finch’s mind. So obvious in hindsight. “No one even knows what I’ve – what I’ve done.”

“What you’ve done?” Dr. Finch echoes back. Is that alarm or intensity curiosity?

A wave of nausea churns in your stomach, throat tightening painfully. “I – I mean I…” You flinch and look away, stabbing into your leg with your fingernails. “Dr. Finch, I am not a good person.” You press your palms into your eyes as you pull back, shrinking into the chair. “I don’t know that I _ever_ was.”

“You have had a difficult–”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” Goddamn it. Why doesn’t someone just call you the scum that you clearly are? “I–” You falter, the words dying in your throat. It’s one thing to lay it out at Ortega. It’s another thing here. Dr. Finch no doubt suspects you might be an ex-vigilante. But she has no idea the full extent of the truth. Because you keep– “I keep lying.” When Dr. Finch doesn’t interject, you continue; “To–to–to you. To Julia. To everyone. All the time. About – about anything. Everything. Someone asks me what I had for lunch and I lie about that. Why? Why do I do that? It’s pointless. But I… don’t know how not to.”

You take a breath, raggard sniffling. Everything’s falling apart again, out of your control.

There’s silence as your therapist sorts through a flurry of thoughts and then Dr. Finch speaks, voice soft. “How are you feeling right now?”

“Fine.” Your response is automatic, and as soon as it leaves your mouth you grimace. “No. Not – not fine. Terrible. I… feel terrible.”

“Honesty. We’re making progress.”

That makes you snort. “If this is w–what progress feels like, I’m not sure I like it.” You take a breath and hold it in your lungs, letting the pressure build. Finally the urge to exhale regrettably overtakes you and the air rushes out, escaping back into the room. Maybe carrying some little part of you with it. “I don’t want to feel like this.”

“Do you think being forgiven would make it better?”

“I – I… I don’t know. M–maybe?”

“Ariadne, forgiveness doesn’t quite work like that.”

Well. At least Dr. Finch isn’t trying to talk you out of it for once.

“It _is_ part of the healing process,” Dr. Finch continues. “But for the person that would be doing the forgiving. It’s not a matter of whether you deserve it, or if you’ve earned it somehow. We choose to forgive, or to not forgive, as we feel necessary in order for our own mental health.”

“So… you agree with me then. It’s ah – it’s hopeless.”

Of course it is. Why even try?

“That’s not what I said.” Dr. Finch’s tone is firm, carefully edging it’s way through your internal thoughts. “Part of the healing process is being able to forgive yourself too.”

“That’s–” You laugh, bitterness seeping into your voice. “That’s even more impossible. I’m…”

“Instead of fixating on the question of being forgiven, or whether you even deserve to be…” Doctor Finch pauses, waiting for you to look over to her. Reluctantly, you comply. “I want you to do some hard thinking. Ask yourself, what would you need to do, in order to forgive yourself?”

“That’s… it’s n–not possible.”

“Think about it anyway. Consider it your homework this week. And we’ll come back to this next time, okay?”

You close your eyes, take a deep breath. Hold it and then let it go. “Okay.”


	47. here for revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress on the Regenerator is slow enough without you taking detours on supply runs. And yet… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Go Go Killer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elo3GwQbB8U)]

##  here for revenge

You check the timer in the bottom left hand corner of your HUD. Still have a few minutes before you can expect Herald to catch up with you. Breaking into this office building had absolutely not been part of the plan tonight, but you were in the area and this has been sitting on the to-do list for a while.

Still – better start wrapping this up.

“Oh Ned… just print the damn line. It’s not even hard.” Your voice is soft, hollowed out and purged of any bass by the helmet’s vocal distortion. You drum your gloved fingers on Nathanial Woodstock’s desk. It’s an antique, something dating from the Oregon trail days – It’s not, actually, but you like letting him believe it.

It’s a weapon for later.

“This is getting ridiculous,” You have to hand it to Mr. Woodstock, Head Editor of Los Diablos’s number two tabloid, The Devil’s Daily. He’s holding up remarkably well to having you invite yourself into his office. “How many times have you wanted to change your name now? You’re straining our credibility here.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Oh Ned,” you repeat. “I’m not asking you.” You drop your voice, “I’m _ordering_ you.” You lay your hands flat on the desk and lean over so Ned can get a look at himself in your reflective helmet. “Print. The. Damn. Line.” Your hands curl into fists, and mentally you reach out, coaxing his fear like one coaxes a campfire.

The man looks suitably stricken, and tugs at his tie which suddenly feels uncomfortably tight against his neck. “You don’t scare me,” he lies, “you can’t kill me, Ghost, or Banshee or whatever you’re going with now. I’m an important man in this city.”

“Adrestia,” you growl.

There was a time you dreamed of getting to storm this office, usually after some particularly egregious falsehood about Ortega’s love life hit the cover. Or worse; your own. You don’t need to dream about it any more. You push away from the table, noting his flinch with no small degree of satisfaction. God, it feels good to be on the other side for once.

You had taken too light a touch with Mia Ochoa. You won’t make that mistake again. This is practice. Don’t forget that. Start with the small fry, work your way up.

You rest an armored gauntlet on his computer monitor. “You know what, Ned? You’re right! I’m _not_ going to kill you.” You coax the nanovores in the gauntlet to life, guide them down your hand. “Perhaps that gave you the wrong impression of what I’m about?” You keep your focus on Ned as the monitor slowly dissolves from the top down.

“I know you, Nathanial Woodstock. I know your wife is filing the divorce papers this week. I know your daughter won’t talk to you anymore. And I know you’re going to have a good long talk with the auditors about where that professional development fund is going.” You raise your hand as the monitor collapses into shards. “I hope you get to watch as your trash-bin magazine chokes on debt until the shareholders finally have enough and fire you.”

You pause, letting your words sink in. “Ned, I don’t need to kill you to destroy you.”

When Ned doesn’t respond you lower your voice again. “I can keep going. I can reduce you to nothing just like your little toy here. I can see to it you lose your penthouse apartment. Ensure your mother finds out what you really did with her fine china collection, Ned ‘it was just one beer’ Woodstock.” You whisper. “I will ensure there’s nothing left of you but a skull nailed to my fencepost.” You lean in again, “Or! Or! You. Can. Print. The. Line.”

Ned swallows, nods. No snide thoughts of defiance bubbling in his head now. You’re the one in control here, not him. The Rat-King chitters in the back of your mind and you press the presence away. Not now. You’re not going to fuck this up again.

You’re not laying low, you’re plotting.

Not a passing fad; a threat.

The Rat-King nudges your attention again.

“Adrestia.”

You don’t need to turn around, there’s no mistaking that little sunburst of focus. Just take a breath, don’t let your frustration show. Damn kid, he knows better than to just needlessly give himself away. “Herald. How’s the knee?”

A flash of irritation. Okay, that was a little low. “You’re coming with me.”

You jokingly raise your arms, palming a smoke bomb as you turn around. “Why officer, I haven’t even d–done anything wrong.” Your grip on Ned’s mind is slipping, damn it. Well, you’ll make sure he doesn’t forget tonight in a hurry.

“Somehow, I doubt that.” Herald moves down towards you, cautious, ready for an attack. That’s your cue. Toss the smoke bomb down between and jump backwards as both Herald and Ned wheeze for breath. Glass shatters behind you as you fall backwards through the office window.

Hope Herald spends enough time hacking up smoke out of his lungs to let you get lost in the Los Diablos night.

The rush of air past you sends your cape fluttering up and around you. You only need to fall off a bridge once to learn from your mistake. The grappling gun from your belt is a quick grab and you fire up towards the broken window. A precious, agonizing second passes before the rope goes taunt, yanking upwards out of your hands as you grab for it.

Fuck! No – _yes!_

The sudden halt in your momentum comes with a sharp jolt on your arms, as you re-align yourself with your feet to the ground. Fuck, you hate skyscrapers. Letting the Rat-King handle the situational awareness for the moment, you steel your nerves and glance downward. How far to street level now? Six stories? Maybe seven? Now that you’re aligned correctly the jump jets… _should_ cushion the fall appropriately.

Could you take Herald in a fair fight? Absolutely. He’s improved a lot even in the short time you’ve been training with him, but you didn’t teach him everything. You felt guilty, not stupid. At the same time, you can’t afford a fight either. Can’t take the risk he’ll recognize your moves now. So running it is.

Take a breath.

Hold it.

You let go of the rope, jump jets flaring to life to slow your fall. As you hit the ground you tuck in your limbs and roll, letting the shock of impact push the air back out of your lungs. A few warning lights complaining on the HUD but nothing serious. As you get to your feet, the laughter bubbles up and out.

You did it!

Honestly, Herald should be thanking you. You reach a hand back to check the padded case clipped to your belt, the real prize for tonight’s labor; the show with Ned was just gravy. And anyway, it’s not like you were stealing from an orphanage. These tech conglomerates have been chewing up housing and pushing out homeless folk since before you ever set foot in the city. They’re as bad if not worse, than any villain you ever fought as Sidestep.

So you swiped a box of prototype GPUs to prop up your cash reserves, so what? IBM isn’t even going to miss it. Hell, harassing them was practically a public service.

Assembling the regenerator is taking longer than you’d hope. The instructions were straightforward enough, but some of the components you need… You can’t exactly walk down to a computer parts store and order an industrial strength power converter. You’ll probably want to look into purchasing a high quality electrical generator too come to think of it. It’s going to look suspicious if a rinky-dink computer repair shop suddenly starts drawing a hundred kilowats of power.

You turn down an alleyway, slowing down as you stretch out a couple notes to get a for a feel of the surroundings. The only thing you pick up is the raucous chorus of preoccupied minds that the Rat-King shields you against. The plucky clarinet of Herald is nowhere to be found. No one knows you’re here. Thank god.

Best to avoid the streetlights as you pick your way through the city center. Let the black of your suit blend in with the gloom. Skyscrapers give away to building blocks with flat-topped roofs and brick facades. From the back of one alley you scale the wall, dusting off your hands as you clamber onto the roof.

Staying low, alert for Herald. Or any of the other Rangers. Doubtless they’ve all been alerted to you now. Do you warrant an all-hands on deck situation? You’ve had a few high-drama escapades now.

The Rat-King prods your attention as you jump across buildings. Something up, little guys? Catch a hint of panicked thoughts stretched taunt.

Muscle-memory takes over, it’s not up for debate. Another roof over on your left, the alleyway between what used to be a theatre and what will forever be Rozzi’s Bakery (Day-old bread, fresh!). Someone’s down there.

Just the one person?

Jump jets flare up as you leap off the roof, cape billowing back behind you, slowing your descent. Maybe it’s not bone-breaking but it’s not quiet either. Whomever’s panicking – a woman? – doesn’t pay you any mind. Too lost in their own head.

Curled up against the dumpster, digging lines into her skin. Bad drugs? An overdose? There’s more than a few needles scattered around, a clear green capsule in her hand.

“Hey–” You stop, the vocal filter is going to shoot any attempt to be soothing in the foot. You flip it off. “Hey, hey, you okay?”

Only the briefest of movement to acknowledge she heard you. Afraid. Hurting. She… took something. Last chance to try? Her thoughts are too incoherent to piece much out of.

Slow approach. Hands visible. No sudden movements. You’re not about to take your helmet off, and your suit isn’t exactly the friendliest thing to have come at someone in a dark alley. Reach out to her thoughts, try to slow the tempo. Deep breaths. The old lie of ‘It’ll be okay.’ She lets you take the capsule out of her hand.

Your heart drops as you do. Hero drug. You wish she had just overdosed. That would have been more survivable. “Hey… can you hear me?”

She groans, pained. Pained thoughts again at her own voice. And… heartbeat? The panicked fracture of her thoughts click into place: hyper-sensitive hearing. That… might be survivable but she needs a hospital. Therapy. Probably more than that.

“Um… do you have a name?” You wince, that’s not how you ask people’s names, idiot. She doesn’t say anything coherent in response but asking is enough to pick out her name from her thoughts. “Kim Ahn? …cool, cool.” You try to keep your voice calm, quiet. “It’s… gonna be okay,” you lie.

You pick up Herald’s triumphant note before he dives. If you dodge he won’t be able to stop before hitting her. Shit. Idiot. You grit your teeth and brace yourself. Turning in time to catch the weight of his fist against your arms. “Stop! Stop!” You hiss.

“Get away from her!” Herald drops into a combat stance, grounded but ready to launch. Just like you taught him. Well that’s just great.

“I–” You stop yourself, switch your vocal distorter back on. “She needs help.”

Herald narrows his eyes, not dropping his guard. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” You hiss. “Found her like this.” You slowly raise the hand holding the drug capsule. “Took the hero drug.” That gets a reaction you didn’t expect. A whole parade of thoughts going ‘twang’ in Herald’s mind.

“She needs to go to a hospital.” He fidgets, glancing at Kim, still behind you. Worry, fear? Just what kind of a person does he think you are?

Oh –

Yeah.

The kind that breaks someone’s knee cap when they’re already down.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you.” You whisper back, “And keep your voice down. It changed her hearing.”

He blinks, taken by that. He lowers his voice. “How do you know?”

“I just do.” You toss the capsule over to Herald. He catches it out of the air. Glances at you before inspecting it. He’s tenser then you’ve seen him in months. “You… could get her to the hospital faster than I could.” Quicker, and with fewer questions. A wanted terrorist dropping off a random woman suffering from the effects of the hero drug… well, her life is going to be difficult enough going forward already.

“Why do you care?”

“I–” You balk at the question. “That doesn’t matter?” You step backwards and out of the way, ushering Herald on. “Just go already.” You keep backing up until you hit the other wall of the alley.

“Don’t think this changes anything, Adrestia.” Herald watches you, wary as he moves to pick up Kim in his arms.

“W–wouldn’t dream of it.”

As Herald ascends into the sky, you let out the breath you’d been holding. Really, this whole situation couldn’t have worked out for the better. Got to bully a jerk. Didn’t fight Herald. Didn’t even lose your prize. Hopefully Kim will be okay.

It’s better, really, that Herald brings her in. You’ve got no business saving people anymore.


	48. when to go home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s not your mom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[EARLY TO THE PARTY](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G5bYdEgm_zo)]

##  when to go home

You could be using Jane: to scope out your next hit, to catch up with Rosie, or to sell some of the excess parts you’ve got laying around. That would be a productive use of your time.

So of course you aren’t doing that – being in Jane’s head these days feels different.

Wrong.

You could be working on the Regenerator, fulfilling your promise to Argent. Not just that – getting the thing working means a level of freedom you never thought you’d get to have. You’d finally be safe in your own skin.

So of course you aren’t doing that either.

You’re in front of your work desk, sleeves rolled up as far as you dare. Your suit doesn’t need repairs, but getting in that marginal improvement to the Rat-King’s coolant system is better than sleep. Better than making corpses walk. Better than stupid meaningless dreams of coughing blood and their fuzzy half-memories tasting smoke and death. Don’t think about gunshots and lightning, the smiling reflection dripping red.

Focus on the soldering torch in your hand and the music in your headphones.

It doesn’t matter what you play. Whatever you can get your hands on, the best genre is free after all. Right now it’s some woman you’ve never heard of before with a low sometimes raspy, sometimes screaming voice. She’s energetic, easy to sing along with while you re-solder wiring for the third time.

You don’t recognize that it’s your phone ringing until the fourth chime. You almost drop the torch into your lap scrambling to pick it up before the call goes to voicemail. “Who’s this?”

“Ari!”

Oh, it’s Julia. Of course it is. Why the haste to pick up the phone anyway? Who else was it going to be?

“Ortega.” Don’t sound so excited. Don’t sound so relieved to hear her voice. “What’s the – the uh, occasion?”

“Do I need a reason to want to hear your voice?”

You sigh, cradling the phone between your head and shoulder as you start cleaning up. “Your smooth charmer act d–doesn’t work on me, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” Julia’s voice dips, you can just imagine her standing there on the other end of the line trying to turn up the smolder. “That’s not what you said last week.”

“S–shut up!”

Laughter greets you on the other end of the line.

“W–what do you want, Julia? Fuck.”

“I know it’s short notice, but are you busy right now?”

There we go. No conversation with Julia stays at a distance for long. Paranoia over being listened in on? General unease with electronics? Maybe it’s both. “No, I’m pretty free, what’s up?”

“Great! Can we meet up in like an hour or two?”

“Yeah, sure, where?”

“Why not down by the pier? It should actually be nice for once. I’m sick of layers.”

You snort, smiling at the remaining mess on the workbench. “Speak f–f–for yourself, old woman.”

“Hey! A _girl_ can dream.”

“Keep dreaming, Sparkles.”

Laughter and then – “What was that?”

You cough, “N–nothing!”

* * *

The smell of salt under a haze of smog and oil. Hazy memories taunt you of another beach, another shore. Nothing that you can recall, more like dummy files tucked away in storage. The water hasn’t been open to swimmers since before you were ‘born,’ and still a part of you yearns to run out to the sand and into the crash.

You stand on the jetty, rocking back on your heels as the wind pulls your hair over your face. Sunglasses shield you from the worst of it. You pull your shawl around you to keep it from blowing away.

“Careful,” Julia nudges you, “with all that fabric on you’ll sink.”

“I’ll just have to push you in first for a raft.” You shoot back.

“You’d think I’d float with all this metal in me?”

“All that hot air makes you a very buoyant old woman.”

You don’t need to look at her to know she’s frowning at that, and just knowing that is enough to bring a small smile. You want to grab her hand, feel the disks of metal that give her namesake. Assure yourself she’s still there. Still alive.

You don’t.

You can’t.

She’s your enemy even if she doesn’t realize it. Even if you don’t realize it.

The wind keeps messing with the rat’s nest you call hair. Maybe you’ll start trying to comb it again. Just to keep Julia from worrying even more about you. You can worry enough for the both of you. “Why’d you want to meet up so suddenly, anyway?”

You can’t read her mind, but you know her enough to pick up on the change in vibe, the way she shifts in how she carries herself. It sets you on full alert. “There’s something I’ve been sitting on for a while actually.”

“Oh?” You try to sound casual, like there aren’t sirens ringing in your head. Like you aren’t glancing around for the best route back up the beach and over the guardrail to somewhere Ortega can’t follow.

“There’s just never been a good time for it…” She glances at you, and the two of you meet eyes. There’s no hiding your fear that way and she grimaces at it. “Do you have any family? Still around, I mean.”

You can’t take her gaze any longer so you step away and towards the water. Feel the crunch of gravel and stone under your shoes, hide your arms under your shawl. “Family?” You ask, your confusion at least genuine enough. It’s been a long, long, time since Julia fished that well. “What’s bringing this on?”

“After you…”

“Died?”

“After that. At the funeral…“ Julia pauses in mid-sentence, then shakes her head. “Do you know a… Chelsea Becker?” She asks, holding her breath.

A dozen different scenarios run through your head, all of them terrify and paralyze you. “I–I–I mean, uh – those are b–both pretty common names,” you say cautiously, “why?”

“Someone I met at the funeral.” Julia’s words make you want to sink into the earth, run into the sea. Do anything to get out of this conversation. “Ariadne…” Julia continues, trepidation in her voice. She’s either oblivious to what’s going on in your head or pushing ahead without mercy. "Is she your mom?”

You blink.

Your…. _what?_

You can’t help it; you start laughing.

Doubled over and clutching your sides. You can’t see straight. Julia calls out, alarmed, and she grabs you by the shoulders before you can fall onto the rocks. “Ariadne!” She taps you lightly on the face. You have to blink the water out of your eyes.

“My mom? You–you–you thought she was my _mother_!?” You repeat, incredulous. No point playing coy after that outburst. You struggle to get a grip on yourself, dig your fingers into Julia’s arms instead as she helps you back to your feet. “What did you tell her?”

“I just admitted I knew you, that’s all.” Julia raises her voice, defensive, confused.

“Why was she even there?” You ask, your fascination burning through the absurdity now. There’s nothing Chelsea could possibly know about you that would endanger you now, but it’s never good to get blindsided like this. Past lives, alternate lives, all crashing into each other behind your back. Fuck, what a mess.

Julia gives you a pained look, “It was your funeral, Ariadne. She flew in from Atlanta for it.”

That gets a pang in your chest. You don’t understand it. Stare up at the cloudless sky, the circling seagulls. They don’t have any answers either, brainless feathery assholes. “Ortega, I swear I’m telling the truth, she is not and I quote, my ‘mom.’ Jesus christ, you almost killed me with that.” What on earth happened between the two of them to give Julia _that_ impression? Why would she have shown up at all? “Why would she do that?”

“She cared about you, of course she came.” Julia insists. Oh shit, you said the last bit aloud again.

“No she didn’t, you senile old woman. Why would she?” you snap back. You let go of Ortega, try to disentangle yourself from her arms and stand back up again. “Look, you want the truth? Chelsea and I were on the same bus to Los Diablos, like, _god_ , fourteen years ago.” You shrug, trying to make it seem like no big deal, to play it off. “We ran into each other maybe a few times afterwards, I guess? She was just another busybody who never left well-enough alone. And then one day she did up and leave and that was that. Sound familiar to you?” That’s not a fair barb and you know it.

You pull away from Julia, eager to put some distance between the two of you. You don’t want to see her reaction to that. Power-walk down the jetty, restless, aimless. Pull yourself together, remember you’re among enemies: always. The edge of the jetty tumbles into the bay, rocks turned slick under the attention of the breaking waves.

Julia follows behind, dogging your steps. Never taking the hint, or maybe taking it too well? The problem with lying so regularly is that when it comes time to tell the truth, how can you prove it?

“And your last name?” She asks.

You turn around to face her. “Cosmic coincidence.” You lie, staring her in the eye. Is this the closest either of you have come to openly acknowledging ‘Ariadne Becker’ is a name you made up? You don’t know how to feel about that; how to feel about a lot of things right now.

She doesn’t back down. “I think you should know… she was proud of you.”

You look away, down at the broken ground beneath both your feet. Treacherous territory. “She was proud of an imaginary dead woman then.” You spit out. You hunch your shoulders, pull your shawl up over your chin.

Julia reaches your shoulder as she catches up to you. She slides her hand down following the form of your arm under the shawl. “Stop it.”

You stand there, not looking at her. “Stop what?”

“Stop with the brooding hero routine.”

“Well, I’m no hero, so wish granted.” You should push her away, shrug her off. You want to scream at her. She’s being an idiot. Why does she care about this? Why dig up even more corpses? It’s going to kill her. Why did you come here? Why did you answer her phone call? Why do you keep letting her in?

Ortega pulls at you, hard, forcing you to turn around or be pulled over. She glares at you, and you shrink away from it, from her. “Who stopped the Nanosurge? She demands.

“That’s not–“

“Who’s pulled my ass out of the fire over and over?”

“I was just–“

“Who did an emergency repair so I didn’t electrocute myself in Mexico?”

“I couldn’t just–“

“Who stayed up with me all night after every bad break up?”

You stay quiet.

“Who stayed at my Mamá’s house with us every holiday?”

You can’t look at her.

“Who came to visit me in the hospital after the Gala?”

“…that was a mistake.” You say, voice weak.

“Oh? It was a mistake, was it?” Ortega asks, an edge to her voice. “Were you lying then? Or are you lying now?”

You don’t have a response to that. You need to get out of her grip. You need to get out of here.

“Was that kiss in the elevator a mistake? Or the ones on this beach? What about all the time we’ve spent together since? What about Valentine’s Day?”

You want to die. To escape. To not be here right now having this conversation.

“Well, Ariadne Becker, which is it?”

You flinch under the weight she puts on your last name. “…I – I don’t know.”

There’s a hand on your face, and then Ortega is kissing you. You freeze, every instinct screams at you to run, and then her other hand wraps around you and something breaks. You reach up and kiss Julia back. Unfastening your broach with one hand you shrug off the shawl onto the rocks before reaching up to run a hand through her hair.

Her teeth catch your lip in the quick pause for breath and then the two of you are fighting to push tongues past each other and it’s gross and you are terrible at it and you keep hitting your noses like drunk jousters and you have no idea what you’re doing while her hands run up your body and you cling to hers as if she’s a life preserver.

It’s the shame of the twinge between your legs that finally pulls you out of it enough to disengage. You pull away from her, smoothing down your shirt, making sure nothing rode up. Cast a quick mental check for any possible witnesses. None, save the seagulls, and honestly? Fuck those guys.

Julia looks at you, face flush, mouth slightly agape. Your heart aches at the sight of it. You don’t want to think about what you look like. You both stand there, in an awkward, flushed silence.

Finally, Julia says, “Accept that your mom is proud of you, you pendeja.”

You stare at her. “W-what?”

“You heard me.”

Is this what having a stroke is like? Did you die this morning and no one told you? Are you in hell right now? “Did – did you just… make out with me, to–to–to win an argument about my, my…” you choke on the word, pound your fist against Julia’s shoulder. “Damnit, she’s not my mom! Fucking hell! Shit!”

“She cried for you.” Julia’s hand is back on your arm, just firm enough to make running difficult. “Don’t throw those feelings away.”

Your brain is short circuiting. Steel’s going to show up in clown make-up and then you’ll wake up screaming again. “I can’t believe you made out with me to win an argument about my mom.” You whisper, your voice strained, throat tight.

Julia’s expression softens a little, finally. Mercifully. “What can I say?” That old familiar grin slips back onto her face, so smug, so punchable. You want to kiss her again. “I have a unique skill set.”

Your throat hurts, a tightness that spreads to your eyes. “Smug asshole.” You make a swing for her shoulder only to falter. Be it your leg giving out or the rock being more slippery than expected.

You cry out only to find your fall halted, Julia’s hands pulling you back up. “Hey, you okay?”

“J–just peachy.” You bite your lip, let Julia pull you up and into an embrace. “I’m…” You try to keep talking and nothing comes out. Something wet on your cheeks as you press your face against Julia’s chest.

“Hey, hey it’s okay.”

“She… she really…”

“She was there.”

“But I – I hurt her.” You shudder, gasping down air. It’s hard to think, hard to breath. The swallowing abyss on all sides. “I ruined her life and then I – I…”

“It’s okay.”

It’s not. There’s absolutely nothing ‘okay’ about this situation. But you can’t leave things like this. Not now. You take a breath, hold it, let it go. “How was she?”

“She seemed to be doing okay. She has an IT company in Atlanta.”

“Oh.”

The two of you stand there for what doesn’t feel like long enough, Julia’s arms holding you up. “How’d the two of you meet?” Her voice is soft, hesitant, as if afraid asking will break whatever is happening right now.

“I told you, same bus.” You huff, try to will your heartbeat to get under control. “But well… I… some – some things happened and she–she took me in. I guess. Helped me get better.”

Julia’s voice tilts in concern. “Better?”

“I… I wasn’t well.” How are you supposed to answer that? Oh yeah Ortega, the crazy chick you have the hots for was a druggie and trained murderer. “Chelsea… she didn’t know me but she – she saved me. Why?”

Most of your memory of the time is fuzzy and patchwork but that moment is still clear. That first promise that you could be ‘normal,’ could pass a human. That someone could see you as yourself and still see a person. The power of it all – right up until you ruined it.

“Because it was the right thing to do.”

“Was it?”

“She was proud of you, you know. Followed everything Sidestep did.”

“But…” That can’t be right. “She – she hated the whole vigilante thing. Thought it–it–it was stupid.” You take a breath, try to steady yourself. “And – and at the time it seemed so obviously the right thing to do. I – I didn’t…”

“It felt like you didn’t have a choice.”

“…Y–yeah.”

“Like it was something you had to do. To make up for being you. To earn people’s love.”

You don’t have a response to that particular knife being jammed into your heart.

Julia’s quiet for a long minute. Thinking about what? You can’t know. That statement felt a little too personal to be coming entirely from sympathy. “I get Ari, honest. My dad, he…”

“Your – um, your dad?” The General? The one that had wanted her to go into the army?

“You wouldn’t have liked him.” Julia fakes a laugh. Not even hiding her backing away from the question. “But you know…”

“What?”

“We always have a choice.”

“I don’t know about that.”


	49. spinning out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why was Ortega so insistent on you coming back to her apartment with her?  
> Tw; emetophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Save My Mind for Later](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tb7sXIziIE8)]

##  spinning out

You toss your headphones and purse onto the counter and unclasp the broach of your shawl, draping it over the back of the couch before falling onto the cushions face first. “God, I’m so fucking exhausted. Hopping around on those rocks makes me feel old.”

Can still feel the throbbing in your knee. Ghost pain or something else? Is not like you can get it checked.

“I _thought_ I saw a few white hairs on that head of yours.” Ortega teases from behind you. It sounds like she’s in the kitchen.

“Fuck off.” You try to put an edge in your voice, try to sound more bad-ass than petulant.

Julia laughs. “No dessert for you tonight.”

“Oh yeah?” You turn over, stare up at the ceiling. “Just try and stop me then.”

“Mm… I can think of a few ways. It wouldn’t even be hard… that part comes later.”

You can feel the heat in your ears. “And when you did you start playing dirty like this?”

“Oh, I’ve always played dirty, Ari.” The purr in Julia’s voice makes you squirm. You can hear her shuffle about the kitchen, the sound of water from the sink faucet. “Do me a favor? There’s some candles in the hallway closet, can you grab the pack?”

The mundanity of the situation puts you on edge. This is _too_ nice. _Too_ pleasant. Something is going to go wrong. Something is going to take this away. You’re a villian and a monster besides, you don’t get to have something like this. If something doesn’t happen, you’ll end up ruining it yourself – just like always.

Taking a breath, you swallow down the train of thought. Blink the water out of your eyes. Won’t do to give Julia the wrong idea. You roll off the couch, and stand up, stretching your arms. “Well aren’t we getting fancy today. I didn’t realize this was going to be that kind of dinner.”

“Who says the candles are for the dinner?”

“What do you–? Hrm.” You bite your tongue as an image occurs to you. Don’t have a comeback for that one.

Julia laughs as you open the closet door. Where are the…? There. Candles, bottom shelf. As you reach in to grab the pack something catches your eye further back and you push aside a cardboard box to see what it is. Uh – “Ortega…?”

“Did you find the candles?”

“Why do you have a bunch of… action figures in here?”

There’s silence from the kitchen and then Julia answers back, embarrassment in her voice. “Found the collection did you?”

You turn over one of the figures in your hand, rub your thumb against the plastic base. “Have you been… holding on to these?”

“Things got a little… strange after we lost you and Themmy.”

“Strange.” You repeat, your voice flat.

“It’s not like we had that much to remember you by…” You can hear Julia’s footsteps. “There was that backpack you’d always left at HQ and… well, I did have a few photos, but they all got torched when the apartment was bombed.” She’s standing behind you, and you let her pull you into a hug even as you continue staring at the Sidestep figurine. “Nowadays I just keep picking them up out of habit.”

“You know I hated these things.” Downside of an economic free zone. What were you going to do, sue the manufacturer for violating the right-to-privacy act? Hah.

“Why do you think I put them in the back of my closet?”

Julia’s affection is like a vise, a pressure painful to the bone even as it holds you together. Every instinct in your head is yelling at you to push her away, to put distance between you. You turn the figurine over in your hands, guilt seeping in like bloodstains.

You don’t deserve to be here, lying to Ortega just by existing. Sidestep wouldn’t do this to her best friend. “Look at this, look at the chest on that woman,” you say, trying to keep your voice light. “Makes me feel inadequate every time.”

Julia laughs, running a hand up your side. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she says, cupping your breast. “I think the real thing is plenty adequate enough for me.”

Eyes wide, you gasp at the touch. “J-julia!!” You push free of her embrace, dropping the figurine on the floor. Heat flushed across your face, A panicked smile on your face even as you try your best to look cross with her. “Wow, s–s–somebody’s bold today.”

Julia smiles at you, bright, genuine. She’d be better off if you ended whatever this was between you. She thinks she can save you, but that’s not possible. You’ll just drag her down with you.

“What till you see the cake.” Julia picks up the figure you dropped, careful to hold it by the base.

“Cake?” You eye Julia, side-tracked again. “What cake?”

“You’ll see.” There’s that smug, tight-lipped smile again. “Trade you for a candle?”

“Huh? Oh,” You swap the pack of candles on the shelf for the Sidestep figurine in Julia’s hands. “What’s this about cake?”

“Relax, won’t you?”Julia reaches with her free hand to grab your own. “Close your eyes.” She commands.

“…why.” What’s gotten into her today? What’s this all about?

“Oh, just do it Ari.”

You sigh theatrically, “Fine, fine.”

You both stand there.

Julia says, a little more harshly now. “I mean _actually_ close them Ari.”

“Fuck.”

Julia laughs, pulling you after her. “It’s okay, you can trust me.”

“I don’t know...”

“Then trust the me that trusts you.”

Your eyes are closed but you roll them anyway. “You really shouldn’t.” You say, only half joking. You squeeze Julia’s hand.

She squeezes back, pulling you along. Back to the kitchen? No, the dining table? What has this whole deal been about anyway? Cake? Candles? Wait –

Hands on your shoulders position you and then Julia says, “Okay, you can open your eyes.”

On the table in front a cake with the words ‘Happy Birthday’ written in green icing. A candle is stuck through the dot of the ‘i.’

“I–” The words die in your throat. “W–what?”

Julia frowns, anxiety creeping onto her face. “March 20th, yeah?”

You stare at the cake. Chocolate icing with a green trim. It doesn’t actually look half bad. Did Julia make this by hand or a store? Probably a store right? It looks way too nice actually. Something professional. How much did it cost? Why even do that? What’s the point?

March 20th? Is that what you told her your birthday was? Don’t even remember doing that. But she did? All this time later? Come to think of it – when is Julia’s birthday? Did you already miss it? Should you be planning to do something for that then?

What –

What is happening right now?

You grab the back of a chair to hold yourself up and suddenly there’s hands on your arms, bracing you. “Hey, hey, Ari? You okay?”

You sniff, a pressure forming behind your eyes. Still fixated on the cake. “Th–th–thank you?”

There’s a confused laugh from Julia. “Is it really that big a surprise? I wasn’t even trying to be subtle.”

“I just… I didn’t…” You giggle and gently push Julia’s arms away as you regain your balance. Is this really happening? It can’t be. “I guess I forgot.”

“Forgot–”

It’s not really something to celebrate. You manage to not say out loud. Instead: “I’ve been – well, busy. You know.” You make yourself smile, meet Julia’s eyes. “It’s very nice. Thank you."

A mask comes down over Julia’ face. “You don’t like it.”

Ah shit.

You shake your head, “I like it! I’m just – just s–s–stunned. And…”

Julia watches you. “And…?”

And you’re a liar and a fraud. An active danger to everything she’s worked for and to her personally. Rotten to the core.

“I – I’m not worth this.” The words spill out before you can stop yourself this time. Ariadne you fucking idiot.

“Not worth this?” Julia recoils, hurt. “Ari, what are you talking about?”

Ah fucking hell. “That’s not – I just mean I…”

“Ari it’s just a cake. I know you’re not a big partier. I thought at least a cake would be nice.”

You pull away, “W–well I didn’t ask for one!” What the hell are you even feeling right now? You have no idea. You need to get out of here. Need to put as much distance between Ortega and yourself as possible. This was a mistake. Of course it was.

“Ariadne!” Julia catches you by the arm as you move towards the door.

“L–let go.”

“Where is this coming from? Ari what is up with you?” Julia doesn’t let go of your arm, stepping around until she’s in front of you. “Talk to me for once.”

You stand there, root to the spot. Staring past Julia at the door. Locked shut. There’s no getting out of this. Not this time. Fuck. “W–why are you…” You shake your head and take a breath, clenching your hands. Can feel the pressure of Julia’s fingers around your arm. The pulse of your heartbeat. Elevated. “You should just give up on me already, okay?”

Silence fills the space between the two of you. Stretching out seconds into hours.

Julia stiffens, then lets go of your arm. Something tightens in your chest. This is it then. You finally got through to her. It’s over and done with.

“You’re so full of it, you know that Ariadne?”

You blink, catch Julia’s eyes. “Huh?”

“Do you think you’re the only person having a hard time right now?” There’s a strained edge to her voice. You should look away. Step back. Make distance. Can’t get yourself to move. Julia puts a hand down on the table.

You shudder, pulling your arms in across your chest. “Y–you don’t – you don’t know what it was like!”

“Because you won’t fucking tell me anything!”

This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. You’re not here.

Swallowing down air you stare at the floor, throat tightening in a vise grip. Pain spiking through you. “I – I can’t.” Anxious laughter ripples through you as you step backwards. “I _can’t_.” You feel sick. Bile churning at the back of your throat.

And then – you’re looking at the ceiling. Hands around you. Ortega’s head comes into view. Fear, anxiety. All your fault. You're doing. “I’m s–sorry.” You croak out.

“I thought I lost you.” Julia shifts her grip, pulling you into a sitting position. “I thought I lost _everything_. Again.” Julia sits back from you, wipes her nose with her hand. “I’m trying Ari. I really am. Madre de Dios, just once I’d like something to not blow up in my face.”

“I’m sorry.” You blink water out of your eyes and pull your legs to your chest as Julia lets go of you. “Th–this is all my f–f–fault.”

Julia sighs, “Believe or not Ari, not everything wrong with my life is your fault.”

“I think we can pin ruining today on me.” You fake a laugh, falling back against the kitchen floor. “At the very least.”

“The cake’s still here. And the day isn’t over yet.”

You blow air between your lips, and stare up at the ceiling. “I… I don’t know if I’m up for cake right now. I’m sorry. I…” You frown as you trail off, struggling to catch onto your thoughts before they get away again, lost in the background buzz of the minds in the surrounding building. “One day.”

Julia’s hand grazes your face, fingers brushing the fresh scar over your eye. Another little lie. “Hrm?”

“I’ll… I’ll tell you everything that – um – that happened. I promise. It’s just.”

“It’s hard.” Julia finishes. “I know.”

“Mhm.” You chew your lip, running the past half hour back through your head. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Are – are you okay?” You hesitate, “You said you had other problems.” What was it Argent had said about drinking?

“Oh.” From the corner of your eye, you can see Julia wave the question off. “It’s… not really that big a deal.”

Shifting your head, you catch Julia’s eye, will yourself not to look away. “You are just as bad as me at this aren’t you.” You state, voice flat. It’s not a question.

That gets an uneasy laugh. “Maybe I am.”


	50. it ain't so dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words are just a different kind of weapon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Dark Saturday](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVn2UM8-sKI)]

##  it ain’t so dark

You open your mouth to say something, but whatever it was is obliterated by the sensation of lips and teeth as she nips your ear lobe. She trails kisses down your neck.

Julia sucks at your neck and you can feel the vibrations your own throat is making against the skin of her lips. She finally pulls back after what feels like a far too quick forever and gives you a small smile, her face flush. “You good?”

You manage to get a hold of yourself well enough to frown. “I’m not some… h–helpless damsel. I can take it.” The bedroom blinds are closed already, you notice. Damn her, she was prepared.

She looks pointedly at you, with the tiniest of eye movement towards your position on the floor.

You puff up your cheeks, taking refuge from embarrassment via indignation. “Oh, you–you–you think you’re so clever.”

Julia waggles her eyebrows at you. “Only because I am.” She runs a hand down your arm, tracing her fingers over your wrists. Just the sensation alone is enough to send your skin into goosebumps. You’re still not used to this, Julia was always big on touching, but it was never quite like this…. never mind the past seven years either. “Are you sure you want to stay clothed?” She grins.

You chew your lip. This is the trouble with temptations, take one and there’s another further down stringing you along. Stick to your guns. “Clothes on or lights out, those are your options.”

She runs her hand against your face, brushing back your hair. Memories of nights spent braiding that no longer seem quite so innocent in hindsight. “I do like seeing your pretty face.”

“What? No it’s not.”

“Of course it is.”

“Stop that.”

“Who’s on top here?” There’s a sharp grin on Julia’s face and she pulls you up into an embrace. One that quickly turns into an excuse to grab at your butt. “That’s right, I am.”

You huff, try a different tactic. “Well, your face is much prettier–“ She slaps you on the butt, a warning shot. “Hey!”

She tsks. “Oh no, that’s not how compliments work. You want to try that one again?”

You press your head into her shoulder, against her neck. “What does it matter anyway, it’s just words.”

Julia grabs you by the shoulders, pulling you away so she can stare you in the face. “You don’t believe me?”

You look away, can’t bring yourself to look at her. “People say things they don’t mean all the time.” You chew your lip. “It’s just another way to hurt someone.”

Julia runs her hands down your arms to grab your hands, an unreadable expression on her face. “Okay.” She sits down on the bed and pulls you down next to her. “Time out. We need to address this.”

You hunch your shoulders, a knot of tension worming in your stomach.

Julia’s voice is low, and you don’t want to look at her face. “Do you think I’m lying to you when I say ‘I love you’?”

“I…” You swallow, suddenly extremely aware of the rope you let her tie around your wrists. Suddenly it doesn’t seem so exciting.

“I meant it. It wasn’t a lie. It’s not a trick. I’m not playing a game here.”

“I don’t understand.” You manage to say.

“I guess I get it,” Julia says, she sounds as fragile as glass right now, and it’s scaring the hell out of you. “Maybe you haven’t seen how much things have changed the last seven years? Maybe you still think of me as that girl that flirts with anything that moves and treated it as a game.”

“You never flirted with me.”

Her fingers dig into your shoulders, voice strained. “Dios mio, yes I did! But I guess… you never picked up on it?” She loosens her grip a little. “And then after you almost– it stopped feeling like a game with you, and I couldn’t even guess how you felt, so I stopped. I got scared.”

“You? Scared?”

“I wasn’t ready to really think about what it meant, being seriously interested in another woman. About what that might mean for me, or how the press would take it. You can’t fight the news.”

“Says the lady who’s punched a reporter.”

“It cost me my job.”

“Okay.” You soften your voice. “That’s fair.”

“And I told you before, you can be a terrifying woman when you want to be Ariadne.” You feel your face redden. She has no idea. You hope. You hope she has no idea. “But, Ari… Ari look at me,” She cups your chin with one hand, you let her turn your head to face her. “Please believe me.”

Are those…? Is she… goddamnit, she’s going to get you going too. “You’re asking a lot from me, you know.”

“I guess I’m just selfish that way.”

“And an idiot. Don’t forget.”

“I never do.”

“Okay.” You take a deep breath, clench your fists, unclench. “I– I’ll try.” You swallow hard, willing yourself to keep talking, keep moving forward. “That’s the best I can promise. I’ll try.” Some part of you hopes you aren’t lying again.

“Ariadne…”

“I… I love–” You dig fingers into the leg folder under you. “I love you too, okay?” You blink your eyes rapidly for no particular reason, feeling the pulse of your heart in your throat. Another window jumped, fool that you are. You let yourself fall over, onto her lap. “You never give up do you.” Why did you just admit that? Have you lost your mind? You’re trying to escape planet Julia not fall in further.

Ortega smiles, awkward. She rests a hand on your head. “I’m sorry, I swear I wasn’t trying to pressure you into saying that.”

You narrow your eyes looking up at her. Before you realize what you’re saying, you’re already doubling down. “If I have to– have to try to believe you, then you have to try and believe me too. That’s the deal. Okay?”

“Okay.” The way Julia is looking at you… You need to do something to distract from the guilt and regret welling up again.

You close your eyes, willing yourself to relax in her lap, letting her run a hand through your hair. “I love your hands.” You say.

Julia’s hand pulls back, hesitating. “What?”

“Your hands are beautiful.”

“And your eyes are closed.”

With a huff you open them again. “Now who’s being difficult?” You reach up with your hands –which you realize are still tied together from your aborted… make-out(?) session– and grab at Julia’s hand on your head, pulling it into your field of vision. Julia’s face reddens even if her expression is unreadable as you run your fingers over and around her palm, trace the insets of the electro-emitters that give Julia her pseudonym. “Does it hurt if I do that?”

“…it’s fine.” There’s a moment where it seems like she’ll say something more, but then glances away. “Anyway, I’ve got medication for it.”

Frowning a little at that, you trace the path of her bones under the skin, massage the knuckles.

“…what are you doing?” To your relief she sounds more curious than upset.

“Any good techie knows to take care of her hands.” You say with only mild levels of smug as you work on her hand. “Take care of your hands, and they’ll take care of you.”

“Sounds dirty.”

You bite your lip trying not to laugh. The two of you fall into silence as you work her hand. It could have been half an hour or only a minute when you finally let her hand go. “Okay, give me the other hand.”

“You really don’t have to–”

You raise your eyebrows, “Hand.”

Julia lets you take hold of her other hand. Again, you gently work the palm, minding the skin around the emitters. “It looks like they’ve improved the bonding between the plates and the rest of the skin?”

“It has some give now so it doesn’t tear as easily anymore. Still, sometimes it feels…”

“…like there’s a voice in the back of your head screaming ‘this isn’t how my body should be’.”

A pained expression flits across Julia’s face. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound too far off.” When Julia doesn’t elaborate, you leave it be. She’s respected your boundaries about being trans, the least you can do is return the favor with her mods.

When you finish working her hand, on an impulse you kiss the knuckles before letting Julia pull back. “Did that help any?”

Julia doesn’t quite look you in the eyes, her face red. “…yeah. Thanks.”

You can’t help it, an incredibly smug grin creeps across your face. “Am I seeing the incredibly rare bashful Ortega?”

That jars her out of it. “Shut up you, you have no room to talk.” She laughs.

You laugh with her, stretching your arms out over your head. “I guess we’ve graduated from braiding hair, haven’t we?”

“I wasn’t aware hand massages were part of the nerd skill set.”

“I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I?”

Julia laughs and runs through your hair. “Keep up that attitude, and it’s not the only thing you’ll be full of in a moment.”

You cover your face in embarrassment as you go beet-red. “Jesus Christ, Julia.”

“Oh, _He_ is not invited.”

You look up at Julia through your fingers. “So do you want to… try this again?”

“Do you?”

“…I’ll probably end up crying like always.” You admit, voice quiet, “but…”

Despite the copious mountain of evidence to the contrary, you’ve never liked to think of yourself as an adrenaline junkie. But when Julia leans down, you raise yourself up to meet her halfway. Every time you kiss Julia is weird and new and sometimes uncomfortable and always exhilarating and you hope it never gets old.


	51. i killed my baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is… just another dream, right?
> 
> Tw: graphic violence, death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Wait for the Summer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_kQyhMfH0rM)]

#  I Don’t Mind

##  I killed my baby

The car rumbles under your seat. Ortega sits up front, eyes on the road. Silent.

The Void is leaning against the window next to you in the back seat. E’s hands bound behind em, legs tied at the knees. No more fancy black power armor or mirrored helmet. Eir only has a teal skinsuit left to cover sickly pale skin. Blood runs down a cut from eir face, one eye swelling shut. Can feel your own face throb in sympathy.

Why did – you hunch up your shoulders, tear your eyes away from the prisoner. “I didn’t… Ortega, I didn’t ask you to come after me.”

“What are you talking about?” She lets out an exasperated sigh. “We’re partners, of course I’m coming after you. You’re lucky I did, you–” You can see Ortega’s knuckles whiten as she grips the steering wheel. “You could have died today.”

“Then I would have deserved it.”

“Ari!”

“ _You_ could have died today!” You shout back, digging your fingernails into your sides. “You have any – do have any idea of how scared I was?”

“Ari – ¡Meirda! That’s what I’m trying to tell you!”

“It’s n–not the same thing.”

“What!?” Ortega snorts, “Yes it is!”

“Oh fuck’s sake,” The Void groans, shifting position in eir seat. “Gag me with a spoon. This is more painful than the electrocution.”

You grind your teeth, balling your fists. “You can shut the fuck up.”

The Void’s smile oozes across eir face, eyes cold. “I’ve got a good memory for faces. I bet with the right artist I could see to it your pretty little mug is plastered on every city block from here to Mexico City.”

You narrow your eyes, “The only thing you’re going to do, Void, is rot in prison for the rest of your life.”

“Excuse me, it’s _The_ Void, the definite article is important.” E snickers. “And prison? I’m not scared of a little prison, carrot top. Where do you think I got all my best men?”

“Shut up or I’ll _make_ you shut up.” You hiss.

The Void’s laugh is acidic. “Next time I’ll know who to bribe.”

Your voice is low, tense.“There’s no bribe big enough to get away with _that_.”

“Oh, you’ll find everyone has a price… ‘Ari’ was it?”

“Not me. Not – not for this.” You grind your teeth.

“Don’t care to have the mask removed, gringa? So I take the term ‘human capital’ a little more literally than others; it’s a good business.” E watches you, smirking a little more broadly now. “You know… the Marshal’s mods, that’s a rare set-up. But I bet I could find a buyer or two. Someone sadistic enough to inflict that another person is always good to know in my line of work.”

E needs to shut the fuck up already.

You lean over, slapping em across the face. “Stop talking.”

The Void blinks, surprised, before bursting into laughter. “Is this supposed to be the infamous American brutality? How precious.”

“Stop t–t–talking already.”

“Now telepaths…” E eyes you appraisingly and you can feel your stomach churn, that’s not a look you’ve been subjected to in a long time. “A lot of mystique over _that_ little ability. Always a market for hopeful idiots thinking a few inches of telepath nerve will open their third eye.” The Void rolls eir eyes, waving a bound hand from eir lap. “CEOs and bureaucrats hoping for an edge in negotiations… The dreams are as endless as their wallets. We’ll leave out that stutter of course; don’t want the buyers to think the source material is _defective_. Heavens, no. As for the rest of you? Well–”

“Don’t say another goddamn f–f–fucking word.” The stupid smug bastard is grinning broadly at you now. Fucking pondsucking bastard. E lost. E lost and should have the grace to stay goddamn quiet.

The Void doesn’t stop smiling. “What’s the matter? It’s no different than being an organ donor as far as your end is concerned. “Former hero” should really up the resale value.” E tilts eir head, lowering eir voice. “It won’t even hurt at that point, you know, breaking you down into parts–”

You scream, lunging for em. The Void’s insufferable smirk freezes on eir’s face. Can barely hear Ortega calling you from a million miles away, and then something on your shoulders drags you away from em.

Ortega pulls you back, stumbling backwards and out of the car. Your hand lets go of the knife, tugging the handle slightly. An upwelling of blood pools around the blade buried in The Void’s neck.

“I –Julia, I–” Your voice cracks. You can’t – you can’t be here. Have to go. Have to get away. Have to run. Cables, like snakes in the grass coil around your ankles. Root you in place. Bound to the bed.

You stare at the knife in The Void’s throat, blood pooling against the collar of eir’s military briefs, eir sidearm clattering to the floor as e sinks to the floor. A rictus grin still locked into place.

Idiot, don’t – don’t just stand there.

Pain mingling in fear washes over you, not your own. It clings – sinks into your lungs like tar and choking out the breath in your chest. Your handler is good as dead. The man in the hood at your feet isn’t much better off, clutching his stomach, blood pooling around gloved hands.

It’s not your fault.

You’re not a murderer.

Push away running. Blood coats the front of the ill-fitting shirt covering your torso, weighing it down and soaking through to stick to your bare skin. Alarms pierce your eardrums as too-late security teams scramble a response. Every muscle in your body screams in protest but you can’t stop.

Not until you’re dead.

You feel the shift in the air behind you just in time to throw yourself against the hallway wall. The Void fires at where you had just been standing. Twisting around you make a grab for the gun. Fingers scrabbling for purchase against the smooth finish of eir armor. A knee meets your chest, knocking you back and gasping for air.

“You _are_ persistent, aren’t you darling?” The Void titters behind eir reflective helmet. You catch the punch this time in your hand. “Worse, you are _expensive_.” A knee to your gut sends you reeling backwards, falling to the floor and gasping for breath.

You can’t match The Void in a hallway like this. There’s no room to maneuver and E’s got you beat on raw strength. As E raises eir gun, it feels like time slows down – just enough to push yourself out of the line of fire. Wooden shrapnel cutting your ear as the bullet misses. Head ringing, you push yourself to your feet, uppercutting em on the chin of eir helmet. The Void blocks your follow up punch with eir arm, while your knee strikes against eir solar plexus only to bounce against the plates of eir armor.

Ignore the throbbing pain in your knee – press the advantage and move in under The Void’s guard to find a weak point in the armor plating.

Only –

E dissolves into smoke, sending you crashing to floor. The Void tsks and the sound comes from behind you. “Hope you didn’t pay much for the halloween costume. Think you got cheated, ginger.”

“And you’re – you’re over c–compensating for something…” You roll over, pushing yourself up on your elbows, watching for the first sign of movement. How many bullets are you going to dodge today?

“Hmmmm? Nah.” The Void steadies eir pistol.

Thunder cracks across the hall as the force of the punch to your side sends you flying off your feet, smashing your helmet against the brick facade. A pleasant tingling sensation sends goose bumps over your body. Instinctively you put a hand to the source. Your hand feels resistance but your torso doesn’t feel your hand.

Swallowing bile you pull yourself to your feet and kick aside Lou Marconi’s body. It’s not your fault. Someone else pulled the trigger.

Don’t

Don’t stop moving.

Objectively, you feel fine. And yet, you know you aren’t. Can’t be. That means shock. How long will it last? How many seconds can you steal before everything comes crashing down again? When She steps over your broken body to welcome you back?

It’s cruel really, here in the moments where death is most feasible is when you feel the most afraid. All those storm clouds burned away under the unyielding glare of the animal drive. Your suit is mostly intact. Between that and the Rat-King, it’s the only reason you’re still standing. What did they hit you with? Your armor might as well be paper.

Unstead feet carry you forward, through the open doorway and into the apartment. A flicker of light through the windows brightens up the room. What’s with that portrait? A tree and red balloons. Something wants you to take a moment to study it further but you can’t –

No one stops.

No one ever stops.

A voice calls out behind you as you steady yourself against the wall. “You’re under arrest Banshee.” You don’t need the too-familiar static to know who it is.

You grit your teeth. “Adrestia.” You can’t afford this fight. You need to get somewhere safe, ASAP, and hop into Jane to play medic. Hopefully you won’t lose too much blood before then. Hopefully the suit’s built-in systems are helping to minimize the damage.

You’re

You’re afraid to look down.

You can practically hear Charge roll her eyes behind you. “You’re under arrest, Adrestia.” A scuffling of boots on the floorboard, then silence – feet planted, ready, wary. “You need help.”

That gets a laugh from you. There’s something in your mouth, you cough, swallow the coppery taste down. At least shock means no pain. “Who doesn’t?” You don’t move. Wait for your moment.

“That was an anti-material round. You’re going to bleed out and die if you don’t get medical attention. Surrender now. It’s only your option.” You hear her take another step. Come on honey, strike up the band.

“Die? Where’s the downside in that?” The voice filter does a lot of work for keeping up that bravado. You can’t die. Not here. You haven’t gone home yet.

Another step, another. “You can drop the act. _Please_.” The distress in her voice spikes your heart rate. “I know it’s you, Ariadne.” So close now. Almost.

You want to be crying, to turn and fall into her arms. But the suit supports you. The Rat-King curls around you. Threads of gossamer red bind your wrists, trailing out into the dark.

Instead you say; “I don’t know who that is.”

“Ariadne…” You feel the weight of her hand pressing down on your shoulder through her armor. “Please, you need help.”

This is it. This is your chance.

No one stops.

You force yourself to turn. You wonder what she thinks. This human-shaped void, the mirrored helmet between you and her. She sees what she wants to see. Her own affection mirrored back, a hollow mask over a void that can only take, giving nothing in return. You will yourself to fall into her arms, and she catches you, not even staggering under your weight.

“I’m sorry.” You say.

“You’re going to be alright.” She says.

“I’m so sorry.” You repeat.

“We’ll make this right, somehow.” She says.

“I love you.” You sob.

“I love you too.” She sobs.

“But it’s not enough.” You say.

And she screams.

You guide the nanovores to take out the emitters first – just like you planned from the beginning – and so when the electricity tries to release it has nowhere to go but directly through her and into the ground.

It doesn’t take long – only an eternity before she goes quiet, speaking only smoke and blood.

She’s dead.

She’s dead and hollowed out.

It’s Anathema again, but worse:

She’s dead because she thought she could trust you.

She’s dead because she wanted to save the unsavable.

She’s dead because you murdered her.

Her corpse pulls you down and the suit and the Rat-King aren’t enough to hold you up this time.

You’re falling.

Falling

Falling into blood – earth – shards of glass that cut against your face.

All lit up in noon-day sun.

And then –

your lungs burst in an expulsion of air and there’s the sensation of cracking and everything’s white and on fire and somewhere above you someone is screaming your name.


	52. crack in the seams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take care of yourself, won’t you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Not Human](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Irp0uwdsM3Y)]

##  crack in the seams

You want to believe her. That you could really tell her anything. That things could ever be okay.

But –

You know what will happen when you get caught. What will happen when they realize what you’ve done. Everything’s already falling apart as it is.

It’s too much to hope for; that you’ll just die. Or just go to prison. Hell, prison would be better than where you’re destined. A five by five cell – white cement block walls sloppily painted white. Painfully bright lights raised just out of reach. And her –

The thought makes your legs shake and you have to grab at the bathroom sink. Bracing yourself. Don’t think. Don’t _be_. You need to switch over to Jane soon. That’ll be good. A fresh state of mind. A different body, unscarred by your own failure. You pull in your awareness tight, a song wrapped around your thoughts to blot everything else out. Every incessant wriggling idle thought lurking in the buildings beside and below you.

Less and less of them these days. Which is a mixed blessing. People have been… moving away from the complex pretty much from the day you signed the lease. And replacement tenants are not sticking around. That’s a worrying trend. As much as you hate their thoughts you need the camouflage. Nothing amiss here, officer. Just a bunch of barely habitable rooms full of the desperate.

Maybe it’s time for you to move too. You could afford a nicer place for Jane and just set yourself up full time at your base. Except that it’s… proving harder than you thought to let it go. This place. Yours. Even though you’ve done nothing to personalize it. A scattering of disposable clothing neatly folded and packed into the dresser or hanging from the closet, a utilitarian kitchen set - almost never touched, a pair of library books on the table you’ve yet to return. That’s it. No posters, no decorations, or photographs.

Well, no.

There’s one photograph now

When you finish in the bathroom, spitting out bloody toothpaste into the sink, you wander back to the bed, sinking down onto the mattress. Why did you frame it? Another fit of madness. Why did Chen even keep it? That’s clearly a bloodstain in the bottom left corner but you don’t buy his story about it being a lucky charm to him.

That’s too weird. Not the Wei Chen you knew.

The woman in the picture has straight blond hair and a broad smile. That kind of forced smile parents get after spending too much time wrangling the kids for the family photograph. Restrained under one arm is a figure you should recognize but raises the hair on the back of your neck if you try to actually think about it.

You.

Red hair, short and just starting to get long enough to curl up. Wary green eyes looking at something just off frame, with an unpracticed smile. That one has to be genuine. You have plenty of experience faking emotion, facial expressions, body language. If you had really wanted; you could have looked even more natural than Chelsea there.

When was this even taken?

You can’t remember.

Can’t remember anything but –

You put the frame back on the bedside table and fall backwards across the mattress.

You shouldn’t miss her. You knew her for _maybe_ two years. And then – and then fucked everything up and by the time the Farm took you back she was already a distant memory. Something you thought you had moved on from.

Someone you tried to forget.

Fucking hell. You press a hand to your forehead as you try not to laugh. You could say that about most people in your life, couldn’t you?

You can imagine it playing out in your head; Chelsea leaning over you, utterly unimpressed, with one hand waving a wooden spoon around. She’d ask, ‘And how’d that work out, Chickadee?’ and then you’d have to shrug because she had you there. The moment someone shows you even an ounce of care and you latch onto them like a mewling kitten.

Screwing your eyes shut you try to let go of the thought, let go of this room, you body. Stretch out and find Jane again, that familiar cord binding the two of you together now.

Jane wakes up with a groan, one hand to her head as bleary eyes blink away sand. Fuck. Did you forget to take care of her yesterday?

Suppose you were…

Preoccupied. But that only makes it more galling. You have an obligation. You stole her body, the very least you can do is take proper care of it. Spending a night crying into the arms of a doomed crush isn’t an excuse. You don’t have _time_ for a relationship, not like this.

You march Jane over to the shower and run her through her morning routine. Jane takes her coffee near-white. You tried it once. In your own body that is. A terrible mistake. Spent the rest of the day feeling sick and gassy. That’s fine. The differences between the two of you, the better a cover she is.

Not for the first time you wonder if you should dye her hair or something. Curling red strands loop through Jane’s fingers as she puts down her coffee mug with the other. Jane’s hair is a little brighter, a little better cared for then your own. Not shot through with white hairs like yours is, although those only tend to show themselves on close inspection.

You hadn’t planned on your puppet looking so alike to you. Even if it was mostly superficial. Every time you consider dying her hair black or something to put a bit more distance between you, something stops Jane’s hand.

The box of dye has been sitting in the bathroom for almost a year now.

With a grimace Jane downs the rest of her coffee before it gets cold. A gasp for air at the end as she lowers the mug back to the table. Something chimes in the dead quiet of the apartment and Jane jumps to her feet with a start, heart pounding. Another chime – oh, the cellphone. Just the cellphone.

Of course it is.

Embarrassment bubbling up her face, Jane makes her way back to bed. The damn phone rests face-down on the bedside table, another chime and the phone vibrates. Not a call. Text messages? Who would be–?

Bed creaking as she sits down, Jane unlocks the phone and flips through to messages. “Shit.” She almost drops the phone and you have to take a second to compose herself before looking again. Dr. Mortum. Honestly, you didn’t expect to hear from her again.

DM: I’m ready to talk.

DM: Meet me this evening at 5.

DM: My Lab.

After a few minutes of empty-headed Rise and shine, sweetheart. Time to face your doom.

* * *

Time to jump off the ledge – yet again.

You’re really making a habit of that, aren’t you?

Jane stands awkwardly in the lab entrance, holding her arms close to her chest. Not very Jane-like behavior, but then, you haven’t been feeling very Jane-like lately. “Hello Doctor.”

Dr. Mortum looks up from her work desk, frowning as she puts a screwdriver down. “You’re here.”

“I… I got the time right, didn’t I?”

Mortum glances at her watch, “You are on time. I… merely lost track of it.”

“So…”

“So then.” Mortum stands up, dusting off her lab coat as she walks over to Jane. “Let me get this straight.” She eyes Jane up and down. Cold, analytical. “You are an escaped re-gene–”

Jane winces.

“A telepath, puppeteering around a comatose patient.”

“That’s… That’s about the sum of it.”

Dr. Mortum frowns, crossing her arms. “And let us not forget the whole ‘Sidestep’ aspect either. You really expect me to believe all this, Jane?”

“Well…” Jane flinches, stomach uneasy.

She doesn’t give you the chance to come up with a rebuttal. “Here is what we’re going to do.” Dr. Mortum sucks in her breath, tries to regain her composure. “If what you have been saying is all true… then. Prove it. Leave this body here and come back in your real one.”

“Leave…?” Jane wraps her arms around herself. What is Mortum planning? “What if I say no?”

“Then you leave here, and you don’t come back. And I will… do you the favor of pretending we never knew each other.”

“And if I agree?”

“Well, that rather depends on how our discussion goes.” Mortum’s smile is all teeth and no warmth. “And this time? Do not forget my gun.”


	53. no way to rehearse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don’t back down, Ariadne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Now or Never Now](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NC8MfulGMXE)]

##  no way to rehearse

Mortum stares down the woman across from her.

A stranger in a friend’s clothing. It just goes to show: you think you can finally trust someone… can finally open up to them… and they turn out to be an escaped government project hijacking another person’s body. What was the Doctor thinking about? Maybe wondering how much of Jane was an act? A con to get her attention – string her along?

“Okay.” Jane whispers, still not meeting Mortum’s eyes. “F–fine then.”

That takes her off guard, “You are agreeing?” Not the answer Dr. Mortum expected to get. This was supposed to be one last chance for Jane to disappoint, not for–

“I d–d–don’t want it to end like this. Between us.” A strangled sob escapes Jane’s chest. “I’m so tired of lying. It’s like… I’ve trapped myself in a maze. But I can’t even see the walls.”

Jane stands up from her chair, wobbling on unsteady legs. “I’m going to have to lay down somewhere.”

Mortum follows her gaze over to the couch on the far wall, the turning of gears starting to show on her face. “You have to lie down?” How does the transfer process work? Is there some sort of visible signifier? What happens when Adrestia departs from a victim?

Hell if you know.

Maybe she’ll be able to tell you.

“Mm.” Jane slowly walks across the room, faking a laugh. “Something tells me, you’re not about to catch me in your arms when I fall.”

“How long does it take?” Dr. Mortum pushes her glasses up against her eyes. Jane lies back on the couch, folding her hands in front of each other on her chest. Funeral style. Too much?

“It’s instant. I still need to… physically get here though. I don’t know how long that will take. Three hours?” Jane’s eyes flutter, the slightest shift of the head to look back at Dr. Mortum.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

That gets a small smile, and Jane looks away. “Words are cheap you know.” The woman exhales and goes limp.


	54. Null

##  Null

Dr. Mortum waits a minute, watching for any signs of Jane waking up again.

Nothing.

Still nothing.

Slow, careful, she stands up, walks over. Puts a hand to Jane’s wrist, feels the pulse. Slow, but steady. Hand to the forehead, normal temperature. “Jane?”

Still nothing.

No one’s home.


	55. come back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has to be worth it – doesn’t it? What have you been doing otherwise?
> 
> Tw: emetophobia, mind control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Early Ghost](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AUuaQARh6O4)]

##  come back

Blinding light fills your vision, and then you open your eyes and it only gets worse. Your body is fire, but at a distance, as if the pain was a matter of intellectual awareness rather than lived experience. Your head feels cold, exposed and light, bereft of any weight. You lift a hand to brush your hair, but it stays in place, held down. Try the other hand. Held down. Try to rise up. Something presses at your throat.

This isn’t–

–this isn’t real

–it’s not happening

–you try to stretch out, grasp a hold of something, a railing, a mind, a word. spilling empty words out of a silent mouth.

–nothing.

–void.

–a figure in shadow under the lights steps into your field of vision. “You made it. I’m so glad.” there’s no warmth in their voice. hands shift just out of your vision. something cold and sharp and metal pinches your neck. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

–black swallows the light from the outside in

* * *

Shock of warm air, nausea coiling in your stomach as your body and mind struggle to reconcile with each other once more. Even before your vision swims back bolts of panic are striking through you. Curl tight around a pillow as you try to manage your breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

You’re doing this. You’re really doing this. You have to now. Can’t leave Jane behind. You owe her that much. Equally pressing; you owe Dr. Mortum a proper explanation.

You manage to hold back the nausea until you make it to the bathroom. Not that there’s much to expel. Bile and dry heaves. You and a healthy appetite haven’t exactly been on speaking terms lately. The mirror is hardly any kinder. Everything’s wrong wrong wrong.

Splash water in your face, then rinse out the last of the bile. Blow your nose. You slap your cheeks and contort your face – reset your expression into something slightly more neutral than ‘terrified.’ Then it’s out with the make-up and razor. Clean up time; cancel-out the blue tinge along your jaw. Blend in the harsh pink cutting across your left eye, the marks across your face.

It won’t stand up to a close inspection - nothing ever does. But it’s good enough for the mirror. You can do this. You can get through this.

Black tights – opaque enough to hide any hint of the orange brands that run down your skin. A knee-length skirt over that. Put on a fresh under-shirt, quick as you can manage to minimize the amount of time with your top exposed. Over that a deep purple long-sleeved shirt that gets tucked into the waistband of your skirt. Finally on top of that you sling your shawl over your shoulders, taking a moment to adjust how the fabric drapes over your body, covering your torso completely. A broach over the collarbone serves to hold the two sides together.

Anything else?

Just some bobby pins to keep your hair in place and out of your face.

There. You feel slightly more human now. Will it be enough? Check your purse before slipping the strap over your head. Emergency phone, knife, brass knuckles, library book, compact, chocolate granola bar. The basic essentials.

Jane would pull it off better. But you aren’t Jane right now. Not Adrestia either, for that matter. You’re just you.

How inadequate.

You don’t have the original case for Mortum’s teleportation gun. Have to make do with an old suitcase you found for cheap at a thrift store. Shove in some towels for padding. It’s not pretty, but as long as Mortum gets her gun, that’s what matters. The thing’s no good to you anyway. Whatever charge or power source it was operating under apparently died after you used it.

It’ll be a relief to get it out of your space. It’s been buried under your bed for weeks now. Haven’t been sure what to do with it since you and the doctor weren’t on speaking terms. Until today at any rate. Maybe today can be the day you fix that.

Maybe pigs will fly.

It’s a long walk across the city and you don’t dare hire a taxi. Briefly entertain the idea of borrowing a car, there’s even a man idling on the curb a couple blocks down. As you near, you can hear him spouting curses into the phone. Shouting abuse at someone. Family? No – co-workers. Have to will your fists to unclench.

It’s tempting. It wouldn’t even be hard to nudge the man to leave the car, keys and all. He’s a piece of work. He’d deserve it – and then he’ll take out his anger on someone else. Whomever he can reach.

You walk on past. Better to stay on foot. To stay out of other people’s heads.

It’s a long walk. And a hot day.

* * *

The doors let you in. No traps, no gas, no sirens. But then again, if the doctor was going to turn against you, you suppose she wouldn’t tip her hand at the front door.

Lure your prey in first before you go for the neck.

What would Julia say if she knew about all this? Well – she probably wouldn’t want you to walk into this situation with no back-up. Ortega can be hypocritical like that. You run your thumb under your purse strap as you try to steel your nerves.

The only way to untangle this knot is to follow it through to the end.

There’s always an unsettling feeling the first time you enter a place you’d reserved for Jane, or vis versa. The perspective on everything is shifted ever-so-slightly and your own body feels like even more of a stranger then usual.

But everything is the same as you remember it from Jane’s perspective. The same hallway, the same decorations, the same doors, the same laboratory. The only real difference is you can feel the weight of telepathic dampeners pressing down on your mind. You shouldn’t be surprised, you suppose. She’s had weeks to prepare before inviting you. Is this going to be a trap? You slip a hand into your purse. If the Directive is waiting maybe you’ll have time to stab yourself before they can subdue you.

Maybe.

You hold your breath, holding the suitcase in front of you as you step through to the main workshop. Dr. Mortum is sitting on a chair pulled up to Jane’s body. Ace’s body, you suppose. Mortum looks up at you as you enter straightening her back. “Ariadne Becker.”

Is she holding Jane’s hand?

Your voice catches in your throat as she says your name. You’d confessed to having been Sidestep back in the day, sure, but the number of people who could connect those two names could be counted on your hands. Even less for the people that should even know you were still alive.

Pull yourself together, Chickadee. “You d–don’t sound surprised.” You put the briefcase down on the worktable, push it away from you. “Your gun, sorry about the – the uh, the w–wait.”

“I’ve had time to… look into your story.” Dr. Mortum gently places Jane’s hand back on top of her chest, Sleeping Beauty style. Almost reverently. Did she… have feelings for Jane? The thought never occurred to you before, but it feels like a puzzle piece clicking into place. That’s not – you never meant to –

Fuck.

You keep your face blank, this isn’t like with Ortega. You can let your emotions get the better of you. “I w–wasn’t lying.”

“No, it appears not.” Dr. Mortum stands up from her seat. Smooths out the wrinkles in her lab coat, surreptitiously slipping one hand into a pocket. A gun? Makes sense. You would, in her position.

“Well… I–I’m here. You wanted… answers, right? Here I – here I am.” You flop your arms in a helpless gesture.

“I did want answers, yes.” She adjusts her glasses, staring you down from across the room. “The first one being, is it true?”

“Is… is w–what true?”

“About what you are – or rather, what you say you are?”

Of course. Of course that’s the first thing she wants to know. It’s the only thing that matters. That you aren’t human, aren’t real. It’s a good thing you haven’t ate, already emptied your stomach. Nausea is not much of a threat, as discomforting as it is. “I–I–I’m not lying.” You stretch your right arm over your head, letting the shawl fall back against your shoulder. Try not to shake as you pull the sleeve back. Past scars, burn marks, to the broken line where the orange tattoos become visible. Sharp and artificial, sitting unnaturally vibrant, a strange contrast against your sun-starved skin.

“Merde…” Mortum steps towards you. If she had any doubts before, they’re gone now. “Can I touch it? Ah – touch you?”

Your stomach twists into knots. Feeling light-headed even as you work to control your breathing. Disgust would be easier to deal with than whatever this is. Fascination? Curiosity? The doctor is a consummate scientist, you have to have known this was a possibility, Ariadne. You’re an object of study. Strapped to a table under too bright lights, blinding out everyone into shadows.

Why’d you take your shades off, fuck fuck fuck.

The hand holding your sleeve up clenches into a fist. “Okay.” You say. You feel small, exposed.

“I have just never had the… the opportunity to – hrm…” Mortum swiftly crosses the distance. You stand stock-still. Don’t move. Don’t back away. Don’t fight. It’s never worth it.

Warm hands touch your arm, a contrast against the cool air. Not cruelly, but it’s not like Julia’s touch. No gentle ignorance here, feeling for the damage you’ve done yourself. This is a knowing examination. Assessment, judgement. You turn your head away, stare down at the floor, will yourself to stay standing, stay still, stay silent.

Don’t think about the hands holding your arm, turning it this way and that.

It’s a mercy when she finally lets you go, lets your arm drop. You shrug the shawl back down and over your arm, pull your sleeve back into place.

“Thank you.” Dr. Mortum says. You bring yourself to glance up as she steps back, out of your personal space. Never seen that expression on her face before. Almost like she felt guilty. Disturbed? “You were allowed to say no, you know.”

You swallow back the bile in your throat. “I’m– it–it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Mortum almost sounds regretful. “I am sorry.”

“That’s–” You shake your head, fold your arms tight against yourself. “I–I–I’m the one that should be saying that. I should have– I should have done this months ago.”

“True. Or from the start.”

You bark out a bitter laugh. “You’re smarter than th–that, d–doc. You’d never have trusted me. Or w–w–worked with me.”

She frowns at that, puts a hand on the worktable. “That… is probably a fair assessment. And considering what you are… I can understand your caution around scientists.”

You close your eyes, tilting your head back. “What I am.”

“Ah–” sharp intake of breath, “my apologies.”

“Another reason not to– not to tell people.” You step away from Mortum, gritting your teeth as you glare a hole in the floor. “It d–d–doesn’t matter w–what I do… I’m a thing first, above everything else.”

“Mon amie, it was a poor choice of words on my part. I am sorry.”

“Bullshit.” You cling to the anger, something to ground yourself with. “Y–you think I haven’t been down this road before? You t–tell people and suddenly that’s– that’s all you are to them. Not a person anymore. Curiosity at best. A th–threat or a t–target at worst.”

“You’ve told others?” Mortum’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“W–what? Well there was – No! That’s not what– fuck.” You hold your head in your hands. “I–I–I meant I’ve… been through it before. W–with being transgender.” It feels absurd to be reluctant to give that up in comparison to the bigger secret. “It–it’s better when nobody knows.”

“Ah.” You can hear her step towards you, brace yourself for a hand on the shoulder that never comes. “Now that, I can empathize with.”

You snarl as you turn to face her. “D–don’t patronize me.” Her expression catches you off guard, and something in the way she’s carrying herself. “W-wait. You don’t mean– y–y–you’re…?”

“I’m surprised you hadn’t already figured it out.” She glances at you, embarrassed. “Older, single woman, in a traditionally male-dominated field… bit of a social recluse… that _is_ still the stereotype, isn’t it?”

“You d–don’t have any cats.” You feel foolish even as you say it.

Amusement flits across her face. “They don’t respect the equipment.”

A pang of nostalgia sparks in your chest. “Th–they sure don’t.”

“So… no one else knows then?”

“No.” You shake your head.

“Not even Charge?”

“Are you c–c–crazy?” Your eyes go wide. “I–I–I’m d–defect– escaped government property. She works for the goddamned government.”

That gets a frown from her. “Aren’t the two of you in a relationship?”

If you could melt into the floor right now that would be great. You groan, face on fire. “W–w–why in the fuck d–d–do you think that?”

She stares back, studying you. “I suppose my source must have been mistaken.”

“No. N–no they aren’t.” You cover your face. Really, you have no right be this surprised. You knew from the beginning that letting yourself get swept up with the Rangers again was going to be bad for your goal of staying under the radar. How many people know? How many have put things together, like Dr. Mortum’s done? How long until something gets back to the Directive?

“Truly, then?”

You clutch at the hem of your shawl, nails digging into your palms through the fabric. “I… I know I shouldn’t be… I know that’s even– that’s even worse then what I d–d–did to you. Fuck.” You’re not crying right now. Not here. Not in front of her. Not like this. It’s not happening. “I– I can’t take the risk.”

“Mon amie…” Mortum places a hand on your shoulder, her touch light – tentative. “You took one now.”

You blink out the blasted water that keeps getting in your eyes. “Look I– I didn’t want to lose you, okay?” You suck down air, slowly let it back out. “I n–n–need your help. I… I c–can’t do this alone.”

“Alright…” Dr. Mortum pulls back and pushes up her glasses. “I won’t lie, this whole thing has been… hard. Why don’t we sit down, have a drink. I’m not done asking questions.”

It’s a little awkward sitting feet away from Jane’s comatose body. That is, you supposed, probably part of the point. No soda, so you make do with water while the doctor nurses a glass of brandy. The dampeners are bad enough, you don’t need to be messing up your head even further.

With your free hand you trace a pattern across your leg, through your skirt. Old habit to keep your hands busy. Suppose Dr. Mortum might be the only person on the planet right now with enough knowledge to put together what the pattern is.

Mortum takes a long drink from her glass and winces as she puts it down. “What was even your plan, anyway? Using the suit I built you?”

“Ah.” You wince. Not exactly your proudest… what, two years? “D–d–does it matter?”

“I stand by what I told Jane about you.” Mortum meets your eyes, staring you down. Challenging you to say something.

You frown, look away. “Honestly…? Y–you’re not wrong. The w–whole idea was… doomed from the start.” Slump down in your chair, glass in hand. “I d–d–don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

You had a plan. Once. It was cold and inhuman, cunning and ruthless. Everything the Farm trained you to be, worked to beat you into. Better yet, you had experience from being out in the field, years of working against villains and other ‘subversive’ elements. You knew all the pitfalls to avoid, generations of mistakes, example after example of what not to do.

And everything had still fallen apart. That you weren’t already dead, imprisoned, or worse, was something of a small miracle. At your core you were still too weak, too emotional, too quick to emphasize with targets. You already failed at being a person, and now you’re failing at being a machine.

“The case to keep working with you is not looking strong, mon amie.”

“Is – is that what this is?” You stare down at the floor, the little seams between the tiling. “Making a… a case?”

“You want my help, Miss Becker but you don’t even know what for. And you’ve done nothing but lie to me since the day we met.”

“But I–”

“Every day wearing Jane’s face was a lie.” Mortum’s voice is cold, distant. “I can understand why you felt the need for it, but it does not change the reality of the situation.”

You don’t answer, find yourself staring past Dr. Mortum towards Jane’s prone body. She doesn’t ‘look’ comatose. Just… asleep. Hair and make-up perfect; her dress, a little ruffled. Looking at her feels weird. A face you’ve seen in a mirror more often than at a distance like this - in your own body.

“Were you aware that Shroud is also a Cuckoo?” Dr. Mortum’s voice pulls you out of your daze. Have you been staring at Jane this whole time? “And she has a history with Jane.”

“A history w–with Ace, anyway.” You tear your eyes away from Jane’s body, glance back towards Mortum. “I had no idea.”

“Hm. Doubtless you would not have rescued her if you knew.”

“It’s like I t–told you the first time. I needed a n–nobody. A face to go where I couldn’t.”

Mortum follows your gaze back to Jane. She says something, soft, barely audible. Then says, louder now, “What would happen if you just… stopped possessing her?”

You chew at the inside of your cheek. “She’ll stay like this. Get w–weaker. Maybe d–die? Without uh – well, it’d be like before; she’d need care to handle, uh, nutrition and the like. I wish there w–w–was something more I could do. Well… I say all that but…” You frown to yourself, “I’m… beginning to think that…”

“You weren’t as alone in her head as you thought?”

“…yeah.” You put your glass down, wring your hands. “Sometimes, Jane would… do or say something and – and in the moment it might seem right but… I c–c–couldn’t figure out why I did it.”

“Such as the severity of your reaction to the video with Ace and Shroud.”

“…s–sure.”

“So what are your intentions here then, Becker? You’ve kidnapped this woman and puppeteered her around – to what end? How long do you intend to keep doing this?”

“At first I… I told myself it was only temporary.” You shake your head, focusing on your glass of water. “That I d–d–didn’t have a choice. Now… I feel like I owe her.”

“Owe her?” Dr Mortum shakes her head, incredulous. “You _owe_ this woman the continued violation of her personal autonomy?”

“That’s– that’s n–not what I meant. Fuck. I mean… If I put her back in the hospital she’ll just… waste away again. It’s this…” Your voice cracks, as desperate to convenience the doctor as you are to convenience yourself. “It’s… it’s not like she’s – she’s aware like this, right? This is… it has to be better?”

“Is it? Is she not?”

You press your palms against your eyes, bile burning in the back of your throat.

“Shroud might have, ah, ‘taken’ Ace’s mind, but there is more to our sense of self than just brain matter.” Mortum drums her fingers against her arm rest, falling into the problem. “I would have to consult with a friend of mine who specializes in neurology. But it would not surprise me if there was something left behind.”

“Th–then maybe there’s something we can do…?”

“Well, telepathy-related technologies _are_ one of my specialities.”

“Doctor?”

“I… hesitate to ask this but, would you mind leaving Jane with me? For the time being, anyway? I would like to run some tests.”

Your stomach turns at that thought. “Tests? S–she isn’t a guinea pig.”

Mortum avoids your glare, “That’s not what I meant. Non-invasive only. I have an idea, but I want to rule out some other possibilities first.”

Comatose or not, the thought of putting Jane in the care of a scientist makes your skin crawl. Even if it is Dr. Mortum. But if she can help her…

“Okay.” You feel like you could collapse to the floor. A massive pressure on your gut, gone. “And.. Thank you,” you croak out, “I know I d–d–don’t deserve it…”

“That’s why it is called ‘grace’ mon amie.” She smiles at you, showing teeth.


	56. a broken heart but it still works

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who are you any more?
> 
> Tw: past sexual abuse;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Blacknwhite](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0bZxqNwS7Ok)]

##  a broken heart but it still works

Here again.

Dr. Finch’s office is getting disturbingly familiar. The potted plant - a fern? - is never in quite the same place twice. A box of tissues, not so subtly placed on the table in front of you. Hate this. Hate coming here. Having your words pried apart and examined. But – but how else? You can’t read your own mind.

Bespectacled eyes watch you from her seat a few feet away from you. Pen and notebook in hand. Thoughtful attention. Her mind still focused on you even when her eyes are not. How do you keep failing the most basic questions?

“I don’t know…” You admit. Stare down at your lap, fingers tracing patterns hidden under your jeans. “I… I don’t know.” Your other hand fiddles with your sunglasses on your face. Your shield.

You take the sunglasses off. Put them on the coffee table.

Dr Finch shifts in her seat across from you, squinting in the dim light at her notes. She doesn’t say anything more, mind attentive, waiting for you to continue. Damn her.

You bite your lip. Are you just stalling for time or actually thinking about the question? You can’t tell. Telling the truth to someone like her is dangerous. So far she just thinks you’re soft, harmlessly broken. Something she can mend with the proper care and the right kind of glue. Reminds you of Ortega in a way.

“Sometimes…” You take a breath, try to keep your voice steady. “I… um, I feel like I’m… working against myself.” You shake your head, frowning at your hands. “Or – no, more like… everything I… everything I want is… incompatible. And so I’m just… kind of stuck. Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“I… don’t know. For it to be over?”

“And by ‘it’ you mean…?”

You don’t respond right away, chewing the inside of you cheek, tongue feeling all the little bumps of irritated skin. Curling your hands into fists, you don’t look up. Don’t look at her. Watching you. Judging. Evaluating. “Me.”

You’ve been dancing around it since the first session. Disappointing you couldn’t hold out any longer.

But you don’t pick up the spike of alarm you were expecting, nor cool indifference. Instead Dr. Finch leans forward towards you, pen still. “Ariadne…” You flinch at the name. “I need to ask you…”

You keep your head down. Here it comes.

“Have you ever thought about taking your own life?”

You flinch. They’ve left you alone in the operating room, you’ve only a second but if you can just get the strength to grab one of the knives on the tray you could – You bite your lip, digging your fingers into your leg. Heart pounding in your ears. You’re not there. You’re here. In Dr. Finch’s office. It’s been years. You’re not there, and you are in control.

“Ariadne?”

You try to put a smile on your face, only glance in her direction for a second before you have to look away again, stare out through the slats in the window blinds. “I – well. I mean. D–doesn’t everybody?”

“When was the last time you’ve had these thoughts?”

You frown, still digging into your leg. Little pinpricks of pain keeping you present. “I… dunno. They just… happen sometimes.” You force out, voice hoarse. You can’t admit to just now. Can’t have her thinking you’re an active danger. “Maybe… I think the last time, I… I uh. I was… with Ortega.”

“With Ortega?” You can’t make yourself look at her. Shy away from her thoughts.

“Y–yeah. But – but it’s not like…”

“Not like what, Ariadne?”

“I d–don’t know. Um. Forget it. I was…” You don’t know why you’re still speaking. It’s like your mouth is on autopilot. “I couldn’t stop thinking. About her… her hands. How easy it would be for… um. An ‘accident’ or something.” You shake your head, smiling at your lap. “I couldn’t… possibly tell her that. She’d be… horrified.”

“Do you often have these thoughts?”

“I mean… they’re not… always about Ortega’s hands.” Your face heats up. “N–not like that. B–but… fuck. Doesn’t – um. D–doesn’t everyone…?”

“No, not everyone.”

“Oh.”

There’s a moment of silence as Finch pens something down. Then she asks, “Why don’t you tell me how one of these thoughts gets started?”

You blink. “What am I…?”

“Think back. Try to describe how it happens; what’s going through your mind, how you felt before the thought came into your head.”

“I…” You shake your head. “I don’t know, I just… When I – I think about how I’ve… I dunno… sometimes it just… feels easier.”

“Easier?”

“For it to stop. For…” You swallow, pulling your arms tight against your center. “It’d be easier than – than still being here.” Can feel every muscle in your arms tense, hands pressed against your sides. Why are you talking? Why don’t you just make her go away. Forget you. Forget this. This is too much. Too– “I feel like I’m falling apart.”

“Falling apart?”

“Everyone… wants – wants different things out of me.” You laugh, it sounds emptier than you’d expected. “Ortega… she – she wants me to–to–to still be Ariadne. But I… I don’t know who that is anymore.”

Dr. Finch stays quiet, waiting for you to continue. Remember the days when you could out-wait any bastard when they tried doing that? What happened to that?

“I feel like I can… barely remember it. But – but I can’t be… I can’t be her anymore. I can’t be her, or – or Sidestep, or Alex, or Jane, or – or, um…” You cut yourself off before you can confess to anything else. Anything you can’t take back. Bad enough you let ‘Sidestep’ slip. The note of interest in Finch’s thoughts at the name. “None of them feel like me.”

She doesn’t press on that, thank god. Instead writing another damn note and shifting her legs. “And who _do_ you feel like?”

You frown, furrowing your eyebrows. “I… I don’t know. Empty?” You shake your head. “Hollowed out. Um. Tired. Like – I… I have to put on these – these masks just to make people feel like there’s something here. Something human. But… none of it fits. None of it makes sense. I feel like I’m going crazy. Like I’m completely different people.”

“It’s hard, when we feel like we can’t be ourselves.”

“Nobody w–wants the _real_ me. Trust me.”

“I’m sure Ms. Ortega would beg to differ.”

“Hah.”

“Do you feel like you’re wearing a mask right now? With me?”

“I…” You don’t have an answer for her. Not one you aren’t terrified to say out loud.

“The Ariadne I see is an extremely empathetic young woman,” You snort at that. Dr. Finch continues undeterred. “Someone who has gone through something very traumatic and is struggling to rediscover herself. Someone I look forward to getting to know better as we continue to work together.”

“I– I’m _not_ empathetic,” you push back.

‘Something traumatic’ she says. Grasping at straws. She doesn’t even know what it is.

“Is that so?” Dr. Finch glances down at her notes. “You’re constantly worried about Ortega’s wellbeing, and we once spent a whole session where you shared your concerns over a _third_ professional superhero’s ability to handle himself in a fight. You’re volunteering in your free time, doing charity work with two different organizations.” She gives you a pointed look over the rim of her glasses. “Not to mention that–”

“Stop it!”

Since when were you standing?

Dr. Finch sits back, watching you. “Ariadne?”

“I…” You swallow hard, slowly sink back down into the chair. “I’m sorry I… I…”

“It’s okay. How did you feel just then?”

“…Mad .”

“Can you expand on that?”

You look down at your lap, fingers tracing lines through the fabric of your pants. “I… feel like I’m tricking you – tricking people. Into – into thinking I’m a good person. It’s… almost like I’m living multiple lives but I’m… just acting at it. Playing parts. I know the words. The motions. But I – I don’t always know how to feel. What they mean.”

“To a degree, that’s normal. Ariadne, we all wear different masks, adopt different personas. At work I behave one way, with my son another, my parents a third. When _I’m_ in therapy I’m a fourth. We all live multiple lives, if you want to put it that way.”

“But – but if anyone else could see it. See what I’m – what I’m like… I act so differently. They’d… they’d think I was crazy. Wouldn’t they?” You’re quiet for a minute, and then the words spill out, “The – the more I try to keep it all separate the harder it gets. What if I slip up, s–say something I shouldn’t? _Do_ something I shouldn’t?”

“Would that really be so bad?”

You look at her, wide eyed. “Yes!”

“Why?”

“If I… I’m not the person she wants me to be – thinks that I am, isn’t that lying? If she – if _they_ found out the truth… Wouldn’t… why would you keep something – _someone_ around that does that?”

“When you learn something new about a person, do you assume they had been lying to you the whole time or purposefully withholding it?”

“I… I don’t know. No?”

“So why would it be different for you?”

You open your mouth. Shut it again. You can’t give an answer for that. “What if… what if it’s… something. Like. Bad.”

“Bad?”

“Y–yeah.”

“Nobody is a saint all the time, Ariadne.” Dr. Finch smiles, a soft laugh. “Not even me. That’s part of being human.”

You groan. “That’s not – that’s not what I mean. I… fuck. I mean… most of the time. I just… I just feel hopeless. Empty… Broken?” You make a face at the word, shake your head. “But… then sometimes, I… I get so… so angry. And I… I can’t show it. Ever. It’s… It’s not safe.”

“Not safe?”

“I… I – I have to s–stay in… in control. Of myself. But–” The words catch in your throat. You shouldn’t be talking about this. Not here. Not to anyone. But you’re so tired. “Sometimes I… I feel like I’m still there.”

Dr. Finch straightens up in her chair. Fuck. “Still where?”

“That…” You swallow, hands clenching your legs. Feeling dizzy. “The apartment. Or. Or the room. After. I c–c–can… can still remember. I try to forget. And it. It follows me. Is me. I swear his footsteps weren’t that loud. Why do I…?” You pull your head down, between your legs. Limbs shaking. Terrified you’ll look up and see the walls have bleached white. God. You’re pathetic. Hopeless. Why are you here? Why even try? Wouldn’t it be easier to let go? To just fucking give up?

What are you even trying to do anymore?

Dr. Finch’s voice dips lower, worry fraying through. “Apartment? Room?”

Fuck.

You shudder, gulp down air. “P–please. Don’t make me go b–b–back. I don’t – I’d rather die. I…” You press your eyes shut. Fingers digging into your skin. You’re here. You’re in the present. That’s the past. You’re here, you’re here, you’re here.

“Ariadne, you’re going to be okay. Alright?” Finch’s voice sounds faint, as if she’s talking from another planet and not the other end of the room. “I’m not making you go anywhere. You’re safe here, can you hear me?”

Fucking hell…

Dr. Finch is seeing this whole sorry display. Self-loathing bubbles up in the back of your throat. It tastes an awful lot like stomach bile.

“Sometimes it’s… it’s so much. W–what am I supposed to do? How can… And I don’t know what to do with it. Except – so I just…” You fall quiet. Throat pinching, eyes wet, a pressure behind your nose.

Dr. Finch watches you, her mind a sun you’re afraid to look at. “Do you… ever find yourself acting on those thoughts?”

You don’t answer that.

The two of you sit in silence. You don’t know how long. Minutes? Hours?

“I…” Your voice cracks. “I deserved it. You know?”

“Ariadne.” Dr. Finch’s voice is sharp, and that’s unusual enough to make you look up at her. “I want you to listen to me very carefully.”

She waits a moment, making sure she has your eyes.

“You _did not_ deserve it.”

You blink rapidly, frowning as panic wells up again. “But – but you don’t even know what–”

“We can unpack that in due time, but it doesn’t change the truth. You didn’t deserve it.”

She – she really believes that.

You blink. Staring back at her.

A strangled sob escapes your throat and the tension drains out of you. You’re – fuck it, you’re fucking crying. Again. The box of tissues gets pushed towards you and you grab a handful pressing them at your face. You’re wrapped up in a paroxysm of weeping, composure lost.

“I–I–I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

You hiccup, tissues pressed to your nose. “I’m s–s–so – so sorry.”

“You’re fine, Ariadne.”

Dr. Finch waits until you’ve gotten yourself back under control before continuing. “Ariadne, that anger you feel? It isn’t you. That depression? Neither is that.” Finch pauses, waits for you to look up at her. “You shouldn’t have to live in fear of it. And you don’t have to. You have the power to change that.”

“Do I?” You hiccup, a manic smile on your face as you shake your head. “I think it – it would be easier to just… just die.”

Dr. Finch locks eyes with you, willing you to listen, to believe her. “Some things are harder to change than others. Sometimes you’ll have to accept compromises or learn ways to work around yourself. Sometimes it can mean medication. But you have the power to do that. As long as you’re here. As long as you’re alive. You have the power to change, and to grow.”

“I… I guess we’ll see.”


	57. trapped inside a loop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take a minute to breath, Ariadne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Machine Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBUN4TsqJKY)]

##  trapped inside a loop

It feels like a chunk of your life has been ripped out.

With Jane in Dr. Mortum’s care, it means no more late nights with the Doctor. Or Rosie. No meetings with Mia Ochoa. No Sunday night swims at the pool club, or practicing martial arts at the dojo. It’s like somebody died.

You should…

You should stay busy. Keep up appearances. Training with Herald every Thursday evening. He’s starting to get the hang of it, figure out his own style. Not sure how to feel about that. The two of you are still on opposite sides after all.

Well, you’re supposed to be.

You push away from the planning desk, rubbing your temples. The corkboard is covered in papers and photographs of various city officials. Little loops of colored yarn on pins connecting criss-crossing in a network of connections that you swore made sense at some point.

The Mayor is getting her support from these three corporations… You jab a pen at the trio of logos pinned in circles around a newspaper cutout of the mayor’s face. One is a front, you’re pretty sure. Real-estate magnate. Ties to Hollow Ground? You keep waiting for the other show to drop after bungling the casino job and the more time passes the less you believe it.

Maybe it’s Hollow Ground you should focus on instead? Usurp them and use that position to springboard after the mayor? It’s not enough to control the puppet, you need to grab the strings…

You groan and put the pen down, spin in your chair until you’re facing the partially constructed assemblage of metal and loose wiring that will become the Regenerator. Distracts. It’s all distractions. The regenerator cost you your secrecy with Argent (another hanging sword!), potentially put you on a crimelord’s shitlist, further harmed your relationship with your primary technology support woman, but if it works as advertised…

It’ll be worth it right?

A way out.

 _Out_ is where you need to go right now. Out of this stuffy closet of a lab.

You shrug your shawl back over your shoulders as you stand up. Lean over to click the desk lamp off, then the rest of the lights on your way out. The whirr of motors behind you as you walk back into the workshop proper as the bookshelf hiding the secret door moves back into place.

Sometimes you wonder if you’re a parody of yourself.

Marcie’s thoughts are easy to pick up against the background thrum of the city. Front desk as always. On the phone with her friend as always. She’s a terrible employee, and thank god for that.

You grab your purse off the hook by the backdoor and slip out, stepping into the evening air. Just going to take a walk. That’s all. Get some fresh – well, some air at any rate. No rescuing people, or endangering them. Just a normal average walk down the street like a normal, average person.

The skyline in this part of town is choked with smog, industrial chimneys crowding each other like the devil’s organ pipes. Ugly as sin and yet there’s a feeling of comfort to it as you walk down the street, sticking to the edge of the road where the grass is cracking through.

The occasional car passes by, the thoughts of those inside flashing by; already gone as soon as you register them. Everyone is always so lost inside their own little worlds. Is it any wonder the world is the way it is?

From inside your purse your phone vibrates. It’s enough to set your heart racing as you fish the damn thing out from the bottom of the bag. Ortega. Reminding you of your date again tonight.

What, is she afraid you won’t show?

Okay, maybe you deserve that.

Julia…

Once you finish the Regenerator you’ll be safe. You can be… if not normal, then the next best thing. No one has to know about the tattoos, no one has to look at you that way. _Examine_ you. No more hiding in darkness.

Julia doesn’t need to know. It’ll just hurt her Like everything else about you would.

The image of Dr. Mortum’s surprised face flashes through your memory. _“Not even Charge?” Dr. Mortum’s eyes widen. It takes a lot to catch the doc off guard like this._

You growl and shove the phone back in your purse without answering Julia’s text. It’s not wrong! It’s not wrong to hide it from Julia. It’s keeping yourself safe. She works with the government. She’ll turn on you. All this pretense that she cares about you will be shattered and there won’t be any coming back from that.

Have to step back, brace yourself against the chain link fence running this stretch of road as you bury your face in your hands.

You can be selfish, right?

It’s not asking too much is it?

Even knowing it would hurt her?

Well, you’re the ‘ _villain_ ’ after all, aren’t you? The cuckoo? Worming your way into someone’s heart… your very own trojan horse, ready to strike where she’s most vulnerable. It’s what things like you were built to do.

Lying is in your nature.

You’ve said as much to Dr. Finch. Of course, she tried to pass it off as ‘childhood trauma’ or something – it wasn’t ‘trauma’ it was training. You were built for this. But, you can’t fault her for not having the complete picture, after all you lied to her about it.

“Miss?”

Your head jerks up and you quickly lower your hands. Heart racing, how did someone sneak up on you? Pulled out of your own thoughts you immediately catch the jumble of thoughts of the man standing a few feet away from you. A dog standing next to him, straining against the leash wrapped around his right hand.

Idiot. Letting your guard down, turning too far inward again. Dangerous dangerous dangerous.

“You okay there, miss?” He repeats, leans in slightly but keeps his distance.

You glower at him, “I’m fine.” You push his thoughts down, urge him to forget you. “Thanks.”

The man’s eyes get a glassy look to them, sliding off your face and back to the street ahead. His dog huffs against the collar holding him back, straining to take off running. It doesn’t take much to push the stranger to keep walking, let the dog drag him along. What the hell kind of person takes their dog for a walk in an industrial park?

Idiot. You press down on his thoughts again as he moves down the street. Make sure he forgets you completely. You’ve got enough problems without having to field some random stranger’s passing politeness.

Ugh. If only the solution were so simple with Ortega.

No –

Get it together chickadee.

You press your palms into your eyelids, take a deep breath and hold it. Your lies are your protection. The maze in which to entrap and destroy your enemies. You’ll go to dinner with Ortega tonight.

And you’ll lie to her.

And maybe you can have another few minutes where you can pretend things will be okay.

No.

Not anymore.

Goddamnit but you’re so fucking _tired._


	58. if i let it all out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re really going to do this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Idea/Intent](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iwwEin1w5H0)]

##  if I let it all out

Julia’s apartment…

You keep coming here, feathers to flame. You need to stop. Or Julia does. Or something needs to happen before the bile overwhelms you and pools out your eyes. It’s not that you don’t deserve to have every moment of joy struck through with guilt, regret.

It’s that she doesn’t deserve what you’re doing to her.

You smile at Julia as she hands you your plate back and realize this might be the first time you’ve eaten all day. It’s easy to forget; there’s always something more important to do. But you know how to hide it, what not to say. Julia has enough to worry about on your behalf already. You don’t want to add anything more. Not every lie you tell needs to be a bad one, right?

Ortega isn’t as strong as she pretends she is. You know what to look for. The stolen moment where you think no one sees, and you don’t need to perform. The turns of phrase that slip through coached vocabulary. She’s hurting. And if you aren’t already part of why yet, you will be.

You can feel it in your teeth as you muddle through small talk. When did you learn how to do this dance? Is it all just training? To know when to smile, to look away, how to sneak-watch her do the same. She sets the music and you follow her lead automatically. You’ve always been prone to mirroring your conversation partners.

Did you just mirror yourself into a relationship?

Is her affection genuine?

Is yours?

How can you know?

You pass her the pitcher of water, laughing at her dumb joke about bra sizes. You can’t know. You can’t ever know. You can’t trust yourself so you just have to trust her. And you want to. So badly. To pretend this could be anything more. That there’s any other way out of this– this haunting you’re trapped in. That you aren’t just making things worse every time you let her talk you into a darkened bedroom.

Because you don’t trust her.

Because you’re still lying.

Because you’re still a parasite; stealing love that could have gone to a real person.

She’s going to find out sooner or later. You’ll make a stupid mistake or get too comfortable, or maybe she beats Adrestia in a fight, peeling off every protective layer you’ve fought so hard to wrap around yourself.

“Ari– Ari, you okay?” Julia is looking at you. How long has she been doing that?

You bite your lip, slap your hand down away from your face. “I’m fine! It’s fine. Just…” You arch your eyebrows, look appropriately apologetic. “Just tired.”

A crease of worry passes over Julia’s face, you let her rest her hand over yours on the table. Julia Ortega, always touching, touching, touching. It’s as if she’s afraid the moment she lets go you’ll fall into the sea.

Ortega and touch. Even before everything went to Shit, she was always so tactile. Setting boundaries had been A Thing between the two of you. When did you stop minding? When did you start touching her almost as much as she touched you?

“You’ve hardly eaten anything.” She says, pulling you out of your head.

You look down at your plate. Realize you’ve been stirring the spaghetti on your fork for the past five minutes. Shit. You must be really out of it tonight if not even sharing dinner with Ortega will get you to eat. You put your fork down, now you’ve got both hands on the table. What are you doing?

“S-sorry, not that hungry tonight.” You hear yourself say before pushing your chair back and getting up. Watch yourself walk out to the living room, past the couch, the TV. Stare out the window, remember too many other times here, first as friends now as… something else.

Julia follows after you, but at least she offers you the courtesy of a few feet distance. “Did something happen today, Ariadne?”

“Happen?” You echo back, then giggle. Anxious. “Nothing happened today. Not yet. Nothing’s happened yet.” You keep your gaze outwards through the glass of the balcony door. If you opened the door, could you jump over the railing before Julia could catch you?

Something to think about. You might need an exit strategy soon.

You pull at a strand of your hair, curl it around your finger, pull harder until it hurts. A hand grabs your wrist and Julia turns you towards her, her eyes searching your face. “You’re uh… You’re kind of scaring me right now Ari.” She rubs your wrist between her fingers, you will yourself not to collapse onto her.

You’re so tired.

“I– I have something that I…” You lick your lips. “There’s something else that I need to tell you.”

She stares at you, expression growing graver by the minute. It’s still not too late, you know her language. You could lean in, kiss her. She’d like that. You would too. Let it distract you both. Put it off a little while longer.

You let your face crack in a half-smile, gesture with your eyes. “Maybe we can– we can sit down.”

“Okay.” Ortega is tense. You let her lead you to the couch, sit down beside her. She’s still holding your wrist. Won’t let you go. “What’s going on?” Not for the first time you wonder how much she actually knows about you. What she suspects. The way she looks at you now, full-focus, what does she think you’re going to tell her? You wish you could know.

“I–” You open your mouth and flinch, try again, “Well I–” again, “That is to say…” You clench your fists. “I’m sorry.” You watch yourself shake.

“It’s okay.” Julia says. “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

You try to smile. “I– I wouldn’t be so quick to say that. If I were you.” You pull at your arm, “Can you– Can you let me stand up? I think it might be… might be easier just to show you.”

“Show me? Ari? Show me what?”

“Please.” You pry at her fingers with your other hand.

She lets you go, still looking you in the eyes. It’s overwhelming. You almost fall down the minute you stand up. “I… I really am sorry.” You run your hands down the front of your dress, find the hem, bunch it up in your fingers. “I tried to tell you– tried to tell you before.” You feel sick, dizzy. “I’m not real.” You pull the hem of your dress up, up and over your head and off your shoulders, shaking out first one arm from its sleeve then the other.

Hands trembling you carefully fold the dress in front of you before letting it fall to the floor. One last feeble delay tactic. You don’t need to look at yourself to know what Julia will see:

What the orange lines running up from your leggings and under your bra must mean.

How everything converges on the barcode printed just below your clavicle, visible between your breasts.

“Here– here I am.” You say. “Ta-da…”

You wait for her to say something.

Do something.

What is she thinking?

You don’t know. Can never know.


	59. I don't mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rejection would be a kind of freedom. Like rejecting the solidity of the ground for the open air.
> 
> Tw. emetophobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[I Don’t Mind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-DIpcX0Uog)]

##  I don’t mind

“Here – here I am.” You say, voice shaking. “Ta-da…”

You stand there, frozen to the spot and waiting for Julia to say something.

Something.

Anything.

_“I don’t understand. Alex, what am I looking at?” Her mind is swirling, even as she keeps her face a careful blank. But you can still pick up enough. Thoughts of tv reports of murder machines in foreign wars, whispered rumors of assassin seductresses._

_“I… I’m sorry.”_

Ortega’s face is blank and her mind remains, as ever, the static hum of a radio tuned to the channel of the universe. What is she thinking? God. You don’t know. Can never know. You feel sick. “I…” Ortega can’t keep the – it has to be: – pain off her face now. “I don’t understand, Ariadne. What am I looking at?”

You choke back a sob with a forced laugh. “What’s not to get?” You hug yourself, you feel faint, it’s hard to see. “I’m not real Julia. I’m.. I’m some kind of–”

_“You’re a weapon? Some kind of… fake human?” Chelsea clutches at her head. “Oh my God. Oh my Jesus Christ. I’ve been living with a fucking AI piloted super weapon?”_

_“Chelsea…?”_

_Her laugh is short and sharp. “I’ve pissed off some people in my time, but never the fucking military, Jesus Christ. Oh my God.” She laughs again, “Jesus, my life is over.”_

_This was a mistake. She’s panicking. She hates you. She doesn’t know it yet, but it’s inevitable. You’ve messed up. You messed up. Why did you think you could trust anyone? Why did you think she would be different? Didn’t the Farm teach you better than this? You’ll… You’ll have to fix it before things get out of hand. Before the memory settles in too far and she starts asking questions. Maybe– Maybe everything can go back to like it was before, except–_

Arms wrap tight around you, crushing you against Julia’s chest. “Shut up.” She says, and you can feel the wet on her face, pressing into yours. “Don’t you fucking finish that sentence pendejo–” she descends into an incoherent list of Spanish profanity.

You stand there, rigid as a marble column, unable to bring yourself to move from the spot, to put your arms around her. There’s no memory wiping you can fall back on now. This is for keeps.

“I’m so stupid.” Julia pulls you tighter, there’s no getting out of this grip. Any moment she’s going to fry you. It’s over. You’re okay with that. You deserve it. “All those fucking years…” Her fingers dig into your skin and you wince. “And every time I talked about ReGenes and you– And you wouldn’t join the Rangers– Always kept the lights off– fuck.” She squeezes you again. Is this how you go? With your spine broken in Ortega’s arms? “Dios mio, I’m so fucking stupid.”

There’s no trying to fix things this time. It’s over.

Ortega rests her head in the crook of her neck. “I’m so, so, sorry.”

You choke. “Wh-what?”

“You must hate me… Ari… Can you ever forgive me?”

“Hate you…?” It’s like the floor’s been pulled from under you. You feel faint, light-headed. Are you dying? “F-fo-forgive you?”

“I didn’t even look.” Julia is shaking, as she clings to you. Your own legs feel weak and together the two of you sink to the floor. “I just got drunk and felt sorry for myself. But you– you were–” Again Julia breaks down into a stream of Spanish profanity.

Slowly, carefully, you raise your arms, wrap them around her. The moment feels unreal. This can’t be happening, can it? You don’t deserve this. “I– I told you… I’m not real, I–”

“Shut up!” Julia squeezes you. “Don’t fucking say that about my girlfriend again, okay?”

“What?” Your voice breaks, your throat so tight it hurts. “What are you saying? I– I– I don’t understand. I don’t understand.”

“Ariadne…” Julia sobs into your neck. “What’s not to understand?”

“Why aren’t you mad at me? Why– why– why don’t you– don’t you hate me?” Your shaking. You’re barely holding it together. The only thing keeping you from running is Julia’s arms pulling you down with her. “I’ve– I’ve lied to you. Every step of the way. Every day.” You collapse against her. “I’ve hurt you. I’ve hurt you so badly.”

“We–” Ortega has to take a breath, steady her breathing. “We can talk about the details. When we aren’t… when we aren’t a mess. I… I’ve got so many questions.” She pulls back so she can rest her forehead against yours, meet puffy red eyes to puffy red eyes. “But I don’t, God, Ariadne Becker,” she tries to smile. “I could never, never hate you.”

You’re beyond terror now. Nothing is real. You’re falling. The ground just hasn’t hit yet. “Ortega… Julia… don’t you– don’t you understand? What I am? What that means?”

Julia holds you by the shoulders, locking eyes with you. “It doesn’t change the most important thing. Ariadne, I– I love you. I told you that.” She cracks a smile, but it’s difficult to pull off smooth when you’ve got tears running down your face. “And I’ll… I’ll punch anyone who tries to hurt you.”

That does it. You collapse against her again, sobbing incoherently. You don’t understand it. You don’t understand. How can she not hate you? Maybe… maybe once the shock wears off and she comes to her senses. And you have to answer her questions. There’s no running now. No wiping someone’s mind. No unringing the bell.

But that’s for the future.

In the moment, holding each other up on the floor, tears and makeup running into each other’s clothes and bodies it’s tempting to think maybe, maybe, for once in your life, everything will work out okay.

It won’t. You’re sure of that.

But you want to believe it will.


	60. sorry i was evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost seems like you might have a hope here. Better fix that.  
> Tw: discussion of self-harm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Siren 042](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EkXvx-yAapI)]

##  sorry I was evil

The two of you sit there on the floor, legs splayed, foreheads pressed together. You’re in your bra and leggings. She’s fully dressed. The light is still on.

There’s a switch.

She sees you and she’s still here. You’re still here. The two of you together, here, on the floor of her apartment. She pulls her head back, and now she really sees you. She puts a hand on your face, thumbs away a tear and you can’t not crack a smile. “Jesus, Julia–“ your breath catches in your throat as she lets her eyes wander down your front. “Don’t– don’t look at me like that.”

Julia’s eyes dart back up to meet yours, “Like what?” There’s that familiar smug grin tugging at her lips. “Like you’re beautiful?”

You turn your head away and groan, “You’re such a cornball.” Feel your checks color as you glance back at her, “and I’m not.” You lean back away from her, jab at the orange lines marring your skin through the network of scars. “I’m ugly. Hideous. A fake. Fake woman. Fake person. That’s like…” You scrunch up your face. “Fake squared.”

Ortega looks at you, and you fidget under her gaze. Her thoughts shrouded under that maddening static. Finally, she says, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

“W-what?” You blink at her, “I– I– I– mean, you’re uh, you’re–” The way she’s looking at you… you can’t bring yourself to wield the trusty old barb and you wilt.

“Yes.” You whisper the word, lean back in towards her, “You’re the most beautiful person I know Julia…”

There’s a glow in her face as soon as you say the words and Julia wraps her arms around you, pulling you in against her. “I’m not exactly a Vogue Cover Girl either, you know?”

You stiffen. It’s true, you suppose. Julia’s no waifish model: taller than a decent chunk of men, well toned, her own -albeit better treated than yours- network of scars, to say nothing of the mods that have defined her life. A network of metal and lightning no more escapable than your own tattoos. More inescapable, perhaps, if the regenerator pans out.

It occurs to you that somehow, you’re closer to that Cover Girl ‘ideal’ then she is.

Huh.

That’s a weird thought.

But still– “That’s– that’s different.” You protest.

“Maybe,” she concedes, “but I doubt it.”

“So…” you can feel that pressure behind your eyes, the pained tightness of your throat. “So what– then? We just keep telling each other ‘you’re pretty’ over and over?” Your laugh sounds bitter, even to you. “That’s absurd.”

There’s a lilt to Julia’s voice, “Is it really so bad?”

“Or-Ortega. If you call me pretty in public I will die on the spot. That. Is. A. Promise.”

“That so? I’ll keep that one in my back pocket then.”

“H-hey, that’s not what I–” You huff and give up, let your head rest in the crook of her neck. God, is it weird to like how she smells? You don’t know. It’s not like you’ve ever talked about this kind of thing and you’re not about to give Julia even more ammo right now.

“You know,” there’s that lilt again, “there’s other ways we can show it.”

“Like what? Holding hands?”

“Ari.”

A smile tugs at your lips. “A gentlemanly pat on the back?”

“Ari!”

“A loving bro-fist pound?”

Julia laughs, the prettiest sound in the world, and she pulls you over to the floor with you, rolling until you’re on your back with her staring down at you, her arms on either side, her leg straddling you. “Ariadne Becker, you _know_ what I mean.”

“Me? I’m afraid not, Julia. I am just a simple machine.” You can’t help it, actually being able to tease her like this is too much fun.

Ortega rolls her eyes, “A machine for having feelings maybe.”

That gets an honest laugh out of you. “Yeah. Yeah, oh– god, maybe.”

“Alright, well. What kind of output does this get me?” Julia dips down and plants a quick kiss on your lips. You knew it was coming but it still gets you by surprise.

“I– I don’t know.” Your voice is shaky. “Insufficient data.”

Julia looks down at you through hooded eyes and you can feel a warmth wash over you. “Guess we’ll just have to do more tests.”

You stare back up at her, heart pounding. “You– you still want to– I mean– after everything?”

“Well… yeah.” Julia grins. “Maybe now… now I can actually get to see you…?”

“Oh.” You shift under her gaze, bite your lip. “I– I– guess….?” You’d given anything to get out from under her right now. You’d give everything to stay here for forever.

“We don’t have to, you know.” Julia leans back on her legs, still straddling your waist. She’s practically resting on your hips, and that is proving demanding on your attention. “Lights on, or doing it all. I want you to be comfortable.”

“I’m… I’m still getting used to that idea.” You admit.

“What? Being comfortable?”

“That– that someone cares.” Why is telling the truth suddenly so addictive? Each time you do it, you feel compelled to do it again. You keep expecting to hit the ground, and it keeps not happening. “That– that– that– anyone cares. That you care.”

“Ari…” There’s a… not pity, but a sadness around Julia’s eyes.

“I’m Adrestia.” You blurt out, and then you can feel the color drain out of you.

The confession knocks the wind out Julia. She physically pulls back, just for a moment, but it’s there, undeniable.

“I know.” She says.

Now it’s your turn to have the breath knocked out of you.

“I–” Panic runs wild, nailing you to the floor. “How’d you–?”

“You aren’t nearly as good at hiding things as you think you are, you know.” She leans down, caresses your face. “It’s one of the things I love about you.”

You flinch under her touch. “But that’s– I mean I’ve, I’ve hurt you. I literally put you in the hospital even.”

Ortega nods. “And you broke Danny’s leg.”

“I possessed Argent.”

“And then lied to us while pretending to help.”

“I stole a box of nanovores.”

Ortega blinks rapidly in surprise. “Shit. Really?”

“They’re neutered. They can’t make more themselves. Or target carbon. N–never again.”

“That’s…”

“There’s more. A lot more. It’s complicated. Ortega… I’m a bad person.” You look away from her, stare across the floor at the distant wall instead. “You shouldn’t love me.”

When Ortega talks again her voice is quiet. “You’re still going to therapy, right?”

You nod.

“You’re actually helping Danny train, right? Not just messing with him?”

Again, you nod.

“Is it true, Adrestia’s only been robbing from other villains?”

“I– I already know how to fight them, it… it feels less bad to go after them.”

“Ari… _why_ are you doing this?”

“I…” your voice hitches, caught in your throat. You want to spill it out, lay out everything, but it’s too much. Everything that happened, always too much. “I– I want to tell you but– but– but I can’t.”

Ortega runs a hand down your shoulder, her expression pained. “Try. For me?”

You open your mouth, try again, shudder. “They…” You swallow, it hurts. “They wouldn’t let me die.”

There’s naked worry and guilt in Ortega’s eyes now. “Ariadne–“

You cut her off before she can say anything more. “I tried. I tried so hard to be good. To do the right thing. To be human. All I ever wanted – To be a normal human girl. But then I–” You choke; a laugh or a sob, or both, you’re not sure.

“I never could be that, could I?” You’re babbling now, you know it, but you can’t stop. Don’t want to stop. “It’s impossible for me. It was never an option. And then– then the apartment and it– it got its twisted hands on me and something, something just broke in me Julia. I’m broken. Even when they scraped me off the road and stitched me back together I stayed broken, and they–“ You pause, suck in a breath of air. You’re shaking, you’re shaking under her, and you grab her hands in yours, hold them tight. “they wouldn’t let me die. No matter what they did to me. Or what I did to– to myself.”

“The scars are your arms…”

“You noticed those…?” You blink your eyes, you’re all cried out at this point. Exhausted. “Those are… before I figured out bruises would be less messy.”

Ortega exhales the air out of her lungs in a long, slow breath. “Fuck, Ari.”

“Thinking about– dreaming about someday getting back at them– Julia, it’s the only thing that’s kept me going. They– they’re the goddamn government and they need to be stopped.”

“And I work for said government.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s why you never came to me.”

“I– they also… spent a lot of time explaining how you– how you never cared about me.”

That gets Ortega to lean back, close her eyes, rub her eyes, pinch her nose. You watch her chest rise and fall in unsteady breaths. Finally she says, in a strained voice: “I literally can’t afford to quit the Rangers, you know.”

That throws you off. “I– no, no I didn’t know that.”

“All this hardware they shoved in me… they practically own my life.” Julia pulls her hand away from her face, blinks her eyes, looks down at you and tries to smile. It’s a brittle expression. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen.”

You wait there, silent. If she tells you to turn yourself in, you realize, you’ll do it. It’ll mean the death of you, but you’ll do it.

“I’m not going to arrest you.”

Okay.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise at that.

“But you’re not off the hook, miss.” She jabs your chest with a finger. “I’m appointing myself your parole officer. You start going off the deep end; people start getting hurt again, I am going to hunt you down and drag your pretty little ass to jail myself. You understand?”

You absolutely do not understand what’s happening right now, but you nod your head anyway.

“You are going to keep going to therapy.”

She pokes you again, and you nod.

“No more screening of my calls. I call, you answer. If you can’t, you better have a damn good reason.”

You nod.

“Finally, you’re going to keep me in the loop on every future move you’re planning. I reserve veto power.”

You tilt your head, “W-wait– you’re not telling me to– to stop?”

Julia locks eyes with you, mouth pressed into a thin line. Finally she says, “Would stop If I told you to?”

You don’t have an answer for that. It’s… It’s not like you don’t want to but..

When Julia sighs it’s with her whole body in a tired resignation. “I promised I would save you, remember? I should’ve known that one of the people I would have to save you from would be yourself.”

You look up at her, eyes wide. “Does that– does that make us partners? In crime?”

Julia glares at you, pokes you in the chest again. “Don’t push your luck.”

You must be losing it at this point because under your breath you whisper: “Be gay, do crimes.”

Ortega blinks, and tries to keep her composure. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“I’m serious Ariadne!” She rubs her forehead. “Promise me. This is the only way this is going to work.”

You close your eyes, tilt your head back against the floor. “I promise.” You let the moment hang there. Then: “Do you… do you still love me?”

“Ariadne–”

“BecauseI’dunderstandifyoudon’t.” You take a breath, for yourself to slow down. “Because you really shouldn’t.”

There’s a silence that stretches out after that like a canyon. You open your eyes, just wait there, bracing yourself for what the response you know is coming. You don’t deserve her. An hour’s delusion to the contrary was nice, but that was all the more reason why you needed to stamp it down quickly.

You feel her shift on top of you and then, her lips are on your neck, and you suck in your breath. Try to move your head and she shifts to give you a peck on the lips, inviting you to deepen things further. Which you do, intimately aware of every point of contact against your thin, too-chapped lips. You shift your arms, find hers braced to either side of you, holding her up and your hands follow them up to her shoulders.

When Julia pulls away for air, she smiles. “Does that answer the question?”

You bite your lip. “I– I dunno. I think I need more data.”


	61. nobody's dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just deserts  
> Tw: emetophobia, past abuse | cw: sexual intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Saints](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n8ny8y2WvJQ)]

##  nobody’s dying

You let your hands run down her sides to the hem of her shirt. You glance up at her and she smiles in reassurance. God, you always manage to have the most fucked-up relationships you think as you slide your hands up under her shirt. She obligingly raises her arms, and when you can’t reach any higher from your position still pinned on her living room floor, Julia finishes the job and tosses her shirt aide. It’s one thing for her to strip from the safety of half a room away, but you’re so close now. In the light, even.

You lick your lips, you can still taste her earlier kiss. “Do– do you want to… uh, go somewhere more comfortable than the floor?”

“The bedroom?” Julia’s voice practically purrs.

“S-sure.”

Julia moves off of you and you move to get to your feet. Before you know what’s happening, you feel hands on your back and knees and you’ve swept up into Julia’s arms. You cry out in surprise until you can steady yourself with your arm behind Julia’s back. “You good?” She asks.

“Peachy.” You squeak.

Julia Ortega is physically carrying you through her apartment. Julia Ortega is physically carrying you, bridal style, through her apartment to her bedroom. You can feel your heart pounding in your throat, ears. How did you manage to trick this woman into a relationship with you? What did you do right? You don’t understand it, but – for once, just let it be, Ariadne.

Be grateful.

You nestle your head against hers, enjoy the physical closeness. It doesn’t last.

But only because she drops you on the bed. You bounce, even, as you sink into the duvet cover. Julia closes the door behind her and then pauses with her hand on the light switch. “Lights?”

You look up at her, terror building in your chest. You suck in your lips, try to steady your heart rate. “I– I– I’m good.”

“You ever change your mind, just say so.”

You nod.

Julia steps away from the wall, then smirks at you. “You want to help with the rest of this?” She gestures at her clothes and you feel lightheaded. In the dark, where you can’t see is one thing but…

Julia must have taken your hesitation as a no, because she goes ahead with stripping down without you. You watch from the bed as she pulls down her pants, then undoes her bra. You avert your gaze before the white cups give away. Why are you like this? Were you… programmed to be this bashful or did you somehow pick it up somewhere?

The bed shifts under you as Julia climbs on. You automatically look up and get an eyeful of her anyway, and god she’s beautiful. It’s too much, you have to go on the offensive somehow before she overwhelms you completely. “H-hi Sparkles.”

That gets her to stop dead in her tracks. She raises her eyebrows at you. “Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”

“Still just– just as pretty, old lady.” You’re practically vibrating. She’s looking at you. God, she’s looking at you.

“Flattery will get you everywhere you know.” She’s on her knees beside you, hands in range of your legs. She looks at you, poised. “Can I?”

You nod. Suck in your breath as she reaches up, around you, tugs at your waistband. You obligingly lift you butt so she can tug the stretch black fabric down, until at least, the too-pale skin of your legs is completely exposed. Still marred by those inescapable orange lines. Looking down at yourself, you feel faint. Queasy.

“Feel any different?” Julia’s watching you. Jesus, you could almost believe she actually finds you attractive.

“Nauseous.” You admit. “Seeing myself is… hard.”

“Then focus on me, okay? Do you want to stop? Turn the lights off?”

You don’t even have to think about it, you shake your head. “I– I want to– It’s just… It’s hard. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Her hand brushes your bare leg and if you died right now, you’d be okay with that being the last thing you felt. “Try not to throw up on my bed at least, okay?” She gives you a smile. “Or me?”

You laugh, “I can try.” It occurs to you that the two of you are at unequal footing in the clothes department still. You lean forward and reach back with your arms to try and undo your bra clasp. But your hands are shaking, and god this is humiliating.

Julia laughs, a soft, musical sound and she leans in, arms behind you. “I can do it.”

“I’ve got it,” you protest. But of course, the clasp undoes itself instantly for her, the clothing Houdini. You let her pull your bra away, and you have to fight the urge to cover your chest. Again, that compulsion, is it programmed or learned? Where? It’s not like you were ‘trained’ on how to act like a woman. You’ve had to make it up as you go.

“You’re pretty.” Julia whispers, and you can feel your heart skip. She’s just… she’s just saying that right? Because she knows what you think about yourself, you just told her. She leans in to you, gives you a peck on cheek. “I mean it.”

“Wh-how’d you–?”

“I don’t need to be a telepath to read your face, Ari.”

That does it, why you don’t know, don’t understand, but it pushes you over the edge and you reach over to kiss Julia back. Let your hands run over her skin, bury your face in her chest as she pulls you in against her.

You let her turn you around so you back is pressed against her chest, and her arms can reach around and cup your breasts. They seem so disproportionately small in comparison to Julia’s. It doesn’t seem to stop Julia though. She thumbs over your nipples, sending a shiver of goosebumps over your skin. “That– That–”

“You okay?”

“It’s n-nice?”

That only encourages her to do it again. You press back against her in response, a growing warmth building up under Julia’s hands. “How are– how are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m enjoying myself.” Julia responds before nipping your ear and you don’t need a mirror to know your face has gone bright scarlet.

You squirm under her hands, turn yourself back around. “You’re always the one taking the lead.”

She raises an eyebrow at you, ever again with that smug smirk. “Oh?”

Hands are shaking but you touch her regardless, watch the impressions your finger makes on her skin, her breasts. It’s not exactly like you haven’t done this before. Just.. could never see what you were doing. What translated to what. Julia puts her hands down, leaning back while you run your hands over her skin. You try to tease things to attention, ‘try’ being the operative word. Whatever scraps of confidence you might have gathered in the dark has completely deserted you out here. “I… have no idea what I’m doing.” You admit.

Julia shifts her legs then takes your hands in hers, guides you over her body. “Try here,” she says. “And here.” She adds. This time you can see the immediate change in reaction on her face as you touch her. It’s not unlike giving a message really. Just.. in different places. You lean in, and, chickening out at the last second kiss the top of her breast.

Her hand runs through your hair and she laughs. “You’re precious.”

You huff. “I’m trying, okay?” You catch her hand with your own before she can pull you in again. Entwine your fingers together. “I– I– I want to be able to make you feel good too.” You suck in air, blow it out again. “God knows you deserve it.”

Julia laughs again, “I’m not sure I want God to know what I’m up to in the bedroom.”

You blanche, “Oh, I didn’t– I didn’t mean–“

She puts a finger over your lips. “You’re fine. Relax, okay?” She grins at you again, “Are we still all good here?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Still good on the lights?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to try something new?” She gives you a sideways look that makes your stomach flip.

“New?” You let Julia pull away from you, watch her reach for something under the bed. It takes a bit of pawing around before she pulls out a box.

She holds it up and shakes it and you can hear… something rattle inside. “Know what it is?”

You look at her wide-eyed. “Fuck Julia, you’re the sexpert here.”

She giggles at that, doubling over. “Yeah. Sure. Okay. Anyway, I thought of getting this after… you know, our ‘first’ time.” She slides her finger under the box lid and pops it open, pulling out a–

“That’s a strap-on.” You say, deadpan.

Julia snickers. “Where’s the cute innocent act now?”

“I– I’m traumatized, not innocent.” You flounder.

Julia’s expression falls. “If you ever want to–“

“No.” You cut her off. “I’ve had enough sobbing confessions to last for seven years.” You close your eyes. “I gotta leave some mystery to keep you interested, right?

“Okay.”

You fall back onto the bed. “Did I just kill the mood again?”

“Do you want to keep going?”

You cover your face with your hands. “You’re gonna make me say it?”

“Every time, Ariadne.”

You shift your hand to cover your mouth so she can’t see your smile. “Do I have to?”

“Every time, Ariadne.”

You breath out. The way she says your name, sings it almost, like you could still belong even after everything that’s happened. “Yeah, I want to keep going.”

“Want to take this bad boy for a test run?”

You groan, feel too warm, a little faint. “Only if you’re driving.”

“Better start revving the car then.”

Julia laughs at her own joke and you have to hold out a hand to stop her. “I am officially putting a moratorium on any and all metaphors.”

“Alright.” You can hear her move about the room, shifting herself. But you can’t bring yourself to break this staring contest with the ceiling. It’s gonna blink any second. “So you want me to fuck you, right?” She purrs the last word and you can feel that warmth in the base of your soul again.

“God. Jesus Christ. Fuck. I guess!” You kick your legs in the air while Julia laughs. A hand catches your ankle and you still. Open your eyes, look up at her. It’s a good thing you’re already laying down.

She runs a hand up your leg, traces the bone of your hip to catch the edge of the fabric of your underwear. “We okay to take these off?”

You take a breath. “I– Okay.” You squeak. “Sure.” You add, for clarity.

“If you’re ever uncomfortable, we can stop…”

“It’s fine.”

You try to calm yourself down as curious fingers pull down at your underwear, lift yourself up to ease things along. This is fine. This is normal. This is a thing that Normal People do. You can do it too, it’s Fine. And then they’re gone, and it’s just you, exposed completely, and you don’t want to look down. Don’t want to look, don’t want to see. “Well–” Your voice hitches, “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Ariadne, you’re fine.” There’s a hand on your leg. “You look fine. More than fine.”

“You– you’re biased.”

That gets a laugh. “I should hope so! I’m your girlfriend.”

You think about this. “I… I guess I can accept this.”

That gets you a smack on the thigh. More like a tap, really. “You can accept more than that.”

“Jesus Christ Julia.” You’re already clutching at the bedsheets just from her pushing your legs open, trying to ground yourself. Her hands run over you, the warm-up work, that you’re familiar with at this point. It’s enough to get you to shorten your breathing.

“You’re just ready to go today, aren’t you?” Julia teases.

You hiss. “Can you blame me?”

“Well, you did have to look at me all day, so no, I suppose I can’t.” She runs a hand over your side, tracing circles on your stomach. You try not to shiver.

“Julia, you smug ass, just…”

“Get on with it?” She says, innocently.

You grit your teeth. “Please.”

She pushes into you slowly. It’s a strange feeling, slightly slippery from lube, which you suppose is a good thing? Is this how ‘normal’ – you correct yourself, ‘cis’ women feel? But it can’t be. Completely different… systems. You shut your eyes. Don’t think about it. Don’t think. Don’t over-analyze everything. Breath out, just be.

You’re not a computer chip, you’re not a brain, you’re a body entire. A body getting fucked in the ass by her girlfriend, her hands on your hips, singing your name. She’s forever tied you to this identity. One red string you’ll have around your finger until the day you die. And that’s okay. You’re okay with that.

You’ve hurt her, you’ve let her down. And she’s… not forgiven you, exactly, which is good because you don’t deserve that. But is willing to work with you. Julia. Julia Ortega. Julia ‘Charge’ Ortega. You’d die for her if she asked. It’d wouldn’t even be difficult.

But she’s asking something much harder of you instead: To live. To face consequences. To make amends.

You don’t want to let her down. Not again.

You look up at her, try to smile, but it’s a little hard to focus. Moan out her name. “God, Julia…”

She laughs, eases up a little, “Got something to say?”

“Yeah.” You pant, try to gather your wits, falter for a moment. “You’re… your real fucking pretty.”

There’s the crinkle of a smile starting at her eyes, and she looks at you. God, she’s looking at you, an utter mess that you are, and smiling. Jesus. Fuck. She leans down and plants a kiss on your breast. “You’re pretty gorgeous yourself Ariadne.”


	62. I wanna go on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wants answers, fine she’ll get her answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Can I Go On](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pB08AUiTP3w)]

##  I wanna go on

Well, this is novel; it’s almost eleven and you’re still not dressed.

Just a bath towel.

In someone else’s apartment.

Julia’s apartment.

Julia Ortega is upending all the rules you’ve set to keep yourself safe. Can’t shake the feeling it’s going to be your downfall. Careless. Arrogant.

“Why do you have to do this whole… villainy doesn’t suit you Ariadne.” Julia is eating breakfast at the kitchen table, sausage and eggs.

You watch her from your position curled up on the couch, arms resting over the back.

Julia watches you back. “So explain this to me, again.”

“Which part?” Try to smile, try to make it look natural, normal. Are you succeeding? You can’t know.

You try not to look at your arms as you sip the cup of coffee. Julia had insisted, given how little sleep you had gotten. Nightmares, always. You can’t run from ghosts. Can’t run from yourself. Wherever you go, there you are.

Julia stabs a tiny sausage with a fork before waving it in your direction. “Let’s start with the basics. What actually _is_ a re-gene?”

You bite your lip. “What actually is a person, Julia?”

She flinches, “I’m sorry. I mean like.. I know how people are… made. But re-genes? It’s more complicated than the official story, I’m sure.”

Stare into the coffee cup, watch the little swirl of creamer. “I don’t know,” you finally admit.

Julia looks at you, incredulous. “You don’t know?”

“Do you think they tell us anything they don’t have to? Do you tell your hammer how it was made?” You snap back at her, slump against the back of the couch, hold the coffee cup stretched out before you with both hands. “I know they use the same kind of vats to grow the… the bodies like they use now in hospitals for transplants. Just… you know, they do the whole person.”

You perk up, “Actually, did you know – they’re in clinical trials right now for this SRS option that combines lab grown with genetic engineering from the patient’s own genome to neutralize the risk of rejection, and it’s looking really promising and–”

“Ari.” Julia puts a hand up. “Focus.”

“Right. Sorry.” You close your eyes, heat crawling up your face.

“I mean, it sounds great. Just… one thing at a time?”

“Yeah.” You blow air across the surface of your coffee mug, set the creamer spinning again.

“So you really don’t know anything?”

“Well…” You flinch, glance up at the ceiling, then back to her. “I mean, I would listen in. Whenever I had the chance. They were pretty good about keeping their guard up, but I mean… I’m just a thing so…”

“You are not a thing, Ariadne.” She looks at you, full force intensity. You have to look away. Can’t meet that. “Don’t ever forget that.”

“…thank you.” You blink your eyes, can’t rub without risking the coffee. “Okay. Well. You know how if you flash clone someone, beside committing a felony you’ve essentially just created like, an adult baby, right?”

“Yeah…?”

“The autonomic nervous system still works. Some behaviors, but like, babies still need to learn even the most basic elements of fine motor control. You can flash clone a hundred of your best soldiers, and they’ll all loll their heads back, sprawled on the ground drooling.”

“That’s what the whole chip thing is for right?”

“…right. We’re not ‘human.’ Just AI-piloted meat robots.”

Julia sits there for a moment, fork in her mouth. Her mouth tugs down in a frown. “Wait,” She puts the fork down. “That’s a lot of super basic behaviors for a program to handle.”

“Well. That’s the secret isn’t it.” Your smile turns dark. “We’ve made a lot of progress in mod interfaces and basic AI routines to run interfaces between the brain and servos. But Re-genes predate all of that. We still can’t get good enough AI to do proper image recognition.”

“So how…?”

“You cheat.”

“Cheat?”

Take a moment, close your eyes, will your heart to stop pounding against your chest. “What kind of program already knows everything about how the human body moves and operates? A program so complicated that writing it by scratch is basically impossible?”

Julia looks at you. Does she get it yet?

Dive on regardless. Don’t look back, jump the window. “Do you know what cognitive mapping is?”

She shakes her head. “No… I’m not going to like the answer, am I?”

You purse your lips, a thin line. “N-no, probably not.” You shift on the couch, take another sip of the coffee, will your arms to stop shaking. Some pilot you are, this body is always acting on its own accord. “It’s been a theory for ages and ages. But – funny, no one can ever seem to get funding to seriously look into it. I think China maybe just started doing their own research on the question?” The taste on your tongue turns foul, bitter. “I’m sure that will end well.”

“What is it?” The tone of her voice, she knows. She’s got the idea. God you feel sick.

“Cheating.” Another sip of coffee. “Scan a human brain. Translate it into an electrical pattern you can store on a chip. You can even make copies. Quantum bullshit means the copies won’t be– can’t be perfect. But you can do it. And you get something you can plug back into a body and it’ll know how to operate it.” You pause, tilt your head. “There’s an adjustment period. Every body is, uh… different, you know. The adjustment is a lot shorter than waiting fifteen years for a baby to grow up though.”

“Ariadne… are you telling me that–”

You push on, you’ve stewed on this for years. If you stop now, will you ever have the courage to speak about it again? “Obviously I can’t say any of this is for sure. Just… inferences I’ve made. Research I did after I… you know, after I left. But– The processing, the mapping. It’s destructive. The original brain doesn’t survive the process intact. It can’t. And– and–” You swallow, wincing from the tightness in your throat. “You can use a brain that just… just died. But, a living one is better. Clearer signal.”

The blood is draining from Julia’s face. It hurts to see. Somehow it’s worse, seeing her grapple with it than it ever was for you, hitting her with everything at once. It’s taken you years to get to this point, and you still feel sick. “Like Athena I sprang from my father’s head. Except I killed him in the birthing. Well…” You blink your eyes, hard. “ _Some_ version of me did? Or proto-me?”

“Ariadne… I’m sorry, but that’s…”

“I wonder… D-do I get my own soul or did I just– just steal my donor’s?”

There’s a long silence to that. That’s fine. There’s no way to answer that question.

“Do you have any…?”

“Of Zeus’s memories?” You shake your head. “I–I don’t think so. There’s a lot of mystery to memory but it’s not hard to locate where the brain stores it. And then there are… logic gates? Firewalls? Mirrors. Mirrors that keep that kind of stuff locked out. If– if they even leave it in there. The goal isn’t to resurrect the dead after all.”

“That’s… I don’t know whether to call that a mercy or not, Ari.”

“They get other benefits for doing things that way too.”

“Other benefits? What other benefits?”

“They– the Farm, the Directive, whatever, they think the hero drug results are, are influenced by your mentality. They already… borrow DNA from boosts to uh, ‘boost’ the re-gene’s chances of surviving.”

“Fuck. Does that work?”

“I don’t know.” Chew on the inside of your cheek. “I feel like there are still a lot that got… recycled. For no powers, or… bad powers.” You stare down, voice bitter. “But we’re not real people, so… who cares, right?”

“So… wait.” Julia frowns at her scrambled eggs, then looks across the room to you. “Does that mean there’s like… other versions of you?”

“Uh–” You look away. “I don’t know? You mean, like, from the same uh, donor?” Julia winces at the word. “Or the same body?”

“Both? Either?”

“I don’t know. It’s a creepy question, though. Isn’t it? Am I even the original ‘me’ out there?” You shudder.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine,” you lie. “You know what I think?”

“…what?” Julia watches you, her expression unreadable. What is she thinking? What is she holding back for your sake? Does she hate you yet? Disgusted by you? Horrified?

“I don’t think it matters?” You bite at the inside of your cheek again, “I don’t know. It’s not like... It’s not like I don’t wonder. Maybe I’m trans because my donor was a woman? Or just my chip was in a female body previously and it picked up something there? Maybe they screwed up growing my body in the vat? Maybe it was on purpose and I’m just another sick experiment.”

“Ariadne...”

“A-anyway, the point is: Descartes is full of shit and mind-body dualism is bullshit too. Whatever the... parts of me were before, I’m just me now. This body... this mind, you can’t separate those. It’d be.. it’d be easier if you could maybe, but...”

Are you going too fast? Saying too much? You don’t want to lie anymore but– Julia is leaning over the table now, propping her head up with her arms. “And you sure about all of this?”

You put the coffee mug down on the end table, rub at your eyes. “I’m not sure of anything. I‘ve spent maybe half of my life on drugs by this point and–”

“Drugs?” Julia cuts in.

“That’s a whole other story.” You scrunch your face. Fuzzy, half-faded images floating to the top of your head. “And– and they can alter your memory, by the way. Erase things they don’t like. Or – or add them. Another ‘perk’ to being a chip. Don’t ask me how I figured that one out.”

Julia is up from the table now, walking over to you, around the couch. “This is a lot to take in Ari. I think… I think I need you to slow down. Let me process. Before I do something dumb.”

You glance up at her, watch her sit down next to you. “Something dumb…?”

“Yeah, like burn down city hall.”

That gets a laugh. “Oh this is bigger than just Los Diablos.” You let her grab your shoulder, pull you in against her chest. You can’t relax. Not now. The tension burning in your shoulders. “But I… I understand. I’m– I’m really taking a risk here too you know.”

There’s just the beat of her heart against you, then– “Yeah. I know.”

“This apartment could be bugged, or the next one over.”

“It’s not, I promise you.”

“Hell, maybe they’re listening in via your mods, or–”

She waps you on the shoulder, laughing. “Get out of here!”

You huff, “I’m serious. Do you know what they’re doing in there when you’re getting an upgrade?”

“Well…” She shifts the hand on your shoulder, rubbing your arm. “No. I guess not. Thanks for giving me a whole new thing to be paranoid over.”

“Happy to help.” You lean into her.

There’s a pause then; “You know, if you’re right saying it out loud probably just screwed both of us.”

“Y-yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Stop. I asked you.”

“I’m sorry. For– for dumping all this on you. This isn’t even half of it.”

Not by a long shot.

“I won’t lie Ari, it’s… hard to hear a lot of this.” Her voice is tense. Pained? Probably being truthful. You’re not sure how to feel about that.

“…I know. Thank you… for– for caring.”

“I’m just grateful you’re finally talking to me about it. Ari…” You can feel the words catch in her throat. You’ll have to prod them loose.

“What?”

“It’s just…”

“What?”

“Maybe it would be better if you stayed low for a while? A long while?” She keeps rubbing your upper arm, fingers firm into your too-exposed skin.

“No.” Your voice is firm. You reach your hand up, pull at your hair. “I– I don’t want to hurt anyone Julia. Well,” You pause, wince. “Almost anyone, I guess. But–” You shudder, swallow down the nausea. “They have to pay.”

“Okay. I’m not going to argue against that, exactly. Just…”

“It can’t be enough to just… destroy the farm, either.” You narrow your eyes, glaring down at your legs, orange lines poking out from under the towel. “The–the very idea of the Directive needs to go down in flames. Every last scum sucking motherfucker involved needs their life ruined and their career on fire. They’ll wish they were dead.” You exhale, let the air out of your lungs in one long shaking breath. Realize your finger nails are digging into your palms. Let go. Try to let go. Swallow the pain.

There’s silence then; “It doesn’t have to be you, Ari.”

You bite back a laugh. it’s like you’ve come full circle in a year. From begging Julia to retire and let Adrestia go, and now… here she is; holding you up. Asking you.

To let it go.

You can’t do that.

“Nobody else cares.” You push back against Julia, draw your legs to your chest, hug your knees. “And I’ll never be safe. They’ll never let me be. They’ll never stop haunting me.”

“I care. And so will others, if you just let them.”

A ghost of a smile on your face. “That’s a nice dream, Julia.”

“This isn’t going to make your nightmares go away.”

You don’t answer. Swallow the lump in your throat, press your eyes closed, turn your head in towards the crook of her arm.

“You talk in your sleep.” Julia’s voice is soft, but with a harder edge underneath that twists your stomach into a knot. “Did you know that?”


	63. I had it all planned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s got you backed into a corner now, hasn’t she?  
> Tw: Self-harm, Suicide attempt, Mind control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Die Young](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-_NNIX8cDA)]

##  I had it all planned

“N–no! I don’t want to talk about this.”

“I think I deserve to know, don’t you?”

You’re not exactly being fair you know. Promised to tell Julia everything.

But–

But this is–

You step away from her, try not to fixate on how Julia follows you into her living room. “It d–d–doesn’t matter. There is no plan. N–not anymore.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. So does that mean you’re going to stop being Adrestia?”

Collapse onto the couch, try not to think about other, warmer memories the two of you could be making here instead. “Julia, I keep– I keep telling you; I–I–I can’t _not_ do anything…”

Julia sits down beside you, ever persistent. The Rangers always get their man. “So then we come back to the original question, what were you planning to do? Originally?”

You don’t meet Julia’s eyes, shift away from her on the couch. “W–why? I’m not going to d–do it anymore… it doesn’t– it doesn’t matter what I might have been planning to do.”

Julia slides closer to you on the couch, not quite touching yet, but slowly boxing you in against the armrest. “Then there shouldn’t be a problem, right? If you really are giving up on your plan – whatever it is – then prove it by telling me.”

“Y–you don’t trust me?”

“Ari…” There’s a sad weight in Julia’s voice. “Please don’t make me say it.”

It feels like something heavy is pressing down on your chest. You shrink into the couch cushion, pulling your legs up against you. “I–I–I guess, after everything, I don’t really d–deserve your trust.”

A hand rubs your shoulder. Despite your better judgement you lean into her touch, fall back against her. “Believe it or not, I am trying to help you.”

You close your eyes, focus on her arm against yours. “F–f–fine. But I w–want to stress I know it was a bad plan, okay? D–don’t… don’t be mad at me.”

Julia puts her arm around you, pressing you closer. “Take your time, just… talk to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

_So, I didn’t really formulate a concrete plan beyond ‘kill everybody’ until after I escaped again. After so long, waiting for you. It hurt too much to hope that I’d ever be outside again. I didn’t even really know how many years had passed until I got out. I spent so much time out of it: sedated or high, and those moments where I wasn’t… I don’t want to talk about it._

_No! I don’t want to talk about it, Julia. Please. Let me just… let me just focus on this thing okay. One thing at a time? God. I’m never going to be done explaining myself am I?_

_Anyway, when I got out I knew I had to get back at the Farm somehow. When I was… growing up, I just took everything as a given, you know? I didn’t understand how bad it was, didn’t even understand why I wanted to run away. But then this second time around… I knew. I knew I didn’t deserve to be treated that way. And they knew that I knew and that they needed to ‘correct’ me for it._

_When I first escaped, I didn’t know what I was going to do…_

You bolt the hotel room door, then attach the little lock chain at the top, sliding it over. That still doesn’t seem enough so you grab the chair from the desk and jam it under the doorknob. Draw the window curtains shut, tight as best you can, sending the room into a grey gloom. It’s a symbolic gesture really. When they come for you, they’ll just break the glass.

At least the bathroom is on the far end of the room. You retreat into there, locking that door too.

You freeze, seeing yourself in the mirror. Blood coats your front, running down the button-up shirt you stole on your way out. You’re going to have to find clean clothes if you’re going to keep going.

If.

The barest layer of red fuzz coats the top of your skull like some kind of weird fungus. Sunken, bloodshot eyes staring back at you, irises are a wretched, sickly green. Stubble coats your jawline; haven't had a chance to shave since the escape. Sickly pale skin contrasting against the freckles dotting your face, the scars running along your cheek.

This is it. You’re out. This is your chance. No one can stop you in time.

Somewhere, sixteen miles back up the highway, there’s a jeep crashed into a roadside ditch. The owner slumped over the steering wheel. It turns out driving isn’t so easy when you’re trying to possess a trained soldier for two days straight. If she’s lucky someone will find her and get her help before anything else happens to her. You kind of hope she isn’t.

Start the shower running, warm water sprays across your hand. Don’t want anything to stain.

You’ll need to find something sharp. The mirror will do. There’s a satisfaction in the crunch of your fist against the polished glass, shards clattering onto the counter, into the sink, cutting little trails against your arm. You shake the glass out of your knuckles, already stinging with pain.

One shard on the counter looks promising. Gingerly you pick it up, heart pounding. Finally. _Finally_. You’ve been dreaming about this for so fucking long. It feels like the entirety of your life.

You step into the shower and sink to the floor, legs folding under you. Your shirt and pants soaking through under the spray of water. You can do this. It’s not anything you haven’t already done a hundred times, you can see the evidence on your arm as you pull back your sleeve.

Your hand shakes as you press the edge against the skin. Why are you just holding it there? Do it already. Something dark and primal seizes your throat, your heart. What the hell is the problem 0742? You won’t get a chance like this again.

Just do it!

There’s a pressure in your eyes and tickling sensation in your nose and your chest hurts and you can’t. You can’t do it. Scared. Scared of what will happen after. Scared of waking up again. You grip the glass hard enough to cut your fingers and then toss it against the far side of the shower with a scream. Ball your hands into fists and slam them down hard on your legs, over and over, until you are met with the dull pain of re-bruised skin. When you finally stop your hand hurts like hell and you tuck it under your armpit as you pull yourself into a ball, sobbing uncontrollably.

Failed again. Your entire life has been one endless progression of failures, hasn’t it? You’re utterly alone and you can’t even do the one thing that will save you.

Not sure how long you stay in the shower. Long enough for warm water to turn cold. Long enough for your skin to wrinkle and prune, as if you didn’t look unsightly enough.

No more tears.

Maybe you couldn’t finish the job today, but that doesn’t change the reality. You’re already dead. But if you can’t bring yourself to correct the unfortunate discrepancy of your body still breathing, then you need to start moving again. You aren’t going back. You won’t let that happen.

If you can’t kill yourself, then you’ll have to kill them first.

No, you’ll do better than that. You’ll find them, you’ll ruin them, take everything they are from them like they took it from you and then will you gut them open without anesthetic and you’ll leave them there while the whole damn building burns around them. Soulless bastards every last one of them. And before they die screaming you’ll make sure every one of them knows exactly who’s sending them to hell.

It’s an impossible dream. but it’s better than sitting under running water waiting for another black van to cart you back.

But first you have to get up. Have to turn off the shower. You’ll need clean clothes and medical supplies, money. There’s someone in the room two doors down. It’s not hard to reach into their mind, grab the strings tight. Panicked thoughts at the edge of your awareness, you push them down, keep him under. Robotically, your victim gathers his things into a suitcase, clothes, wallet, whatever you can find. You have him stagger outside, place the suitcase by your door. Don’t care what happens to the bastard next, but you need him out of the way. You force him to talk a walk down the steps, outside and into the woods. Knocking him out requires a mere twist of the strings as you depart from his mind. A body tumbling into the brush. He won’t remember anything when he wakes up: who he is, or what he’s doing there. That’ll keep him busy.

Pinpricks of pain greet you as you return to your own body, nausea riling up your stomach. You let it ride, vomiting stomach bile over the floor. When you feel confident enough to stand again you move to the doorframe, shift the chair free, unbolt the door. Open it just wide enough to grab the suitcase with your good hand. Then it’s back with the bolts, back with the chair.

You discard your old stolen clothes on the floor, and crack open the suitcase, pulling out the fresh outfit you’ve stolen. Men’s clothes, disgusting. But it’s all you’ve got on hand. Boxers and pants, neither the right size, but at least there’s a belt to hold things up against your frame. You take one t-shirt and rip it into strips that you can tie around your chest and hold your breasts in place. Over that goes an undershirt, then a UCLA hoodie. Another strip of cloth gets wrapped around your hurt fist.

The ID in the wallet looks nothing like you, but a telepathic suggestion or two will fix that. The credit cards are useless, could be used to track you, so you toss them aside. That leaves about forty in cash. Should be enough to get you to the next town. You’d just steal a car, but you aren’t in any condition to drive.

You reach out again to scan the hotel. A dull, sleepy throb of tourists stopping over on their way to the Grand Canyon. No one stands out as a threat. But it’s time to get moving. You’ll head to the lobby and call a taxi. Next town over you’ll be able to breathe a little easier. Maybe find a dealer you can raid for more cash and some opiates. Where you’ll end up exactly, you’re not sure yet. But it’ll need to be big if you’re going to hide out there. Somewhere you can learn the layout quickly, make connections, get resources. If you’re going to take down the Farm and the Directive, you’re going to need everything you can bring to bear against them.

The weight of a country ideally.

There you go.

The shape of the idea comes to you as you stagger down to the lobby, dragging one foot behind the other. You’ll need somewhere to practice, to get a feel for things, but – They controlled your strings, so you’ll take theirs. Start small, take control of a city, somewhere it’ll be easy to infiltrate. From there move up, shape a puppet to be your figurehead. Someone to open doors and get you in the right rooms so you can twist the right thoughts. Move up to the state level, from there it’s a jump to the national, but that will be the crucial step. Get access to the President, the Pentagon. Bring them to heel, and they’ll do the dirty work for you. Force feed the serpent its own tail.

And if someone catches on? If you die in the attempt? So what? They’ll be doing you a favor.

* * *

Julia is silent for a long time. You can’t bring yourself to look at her face. Only listen to the terrifying static buzz of her mind, so close to yours and yet still indecipherable.

You keep waiting for her to move away from you, to take her arm back. “…you were seriously going to try and take over the entire country?”

“J–just the people in charge.” You feel stupid, even as you say it. “And just for a– for a little while, you know?”

Julia’s voice is worryingly calm. “Just a little while?”

“I… I didn’t want to like… rule people. I’d just get rid of the– of the Farm and then I w–would … you know.” You let out a long uneven breath. “If something hadn’t stopped me b–before then, I’d have… I would have found something.”

“…and this is… not what you want to do anymore? I have that right?”

If she’s going to turn you in, you wish she’d just say so. “It’s n–n–not even a matter of wanting to do it or not.” You stare down at your lap, tracing patterns across your thigh. “It became impossible.”

Julia shifts, her hand, finding yours, running her fingers over yours, the spaces in-between them. “How’d that happen?”

“It’s…” A weak laugh, you don’t bother trying to stop it. “It’s all your fault, really.”

That gets a response from her, the way her body tenses under you. “My fault?”

“You… you found me. Talked me into helping Argent.”

“And that made it impossible?”

You nod. “I… saw the effect I had on her, what… possessing her felt like. On her end. And I–I–I realized. It had happened before. To me. Th–th–th–that night. When I–” You can’t make yourself finish, throat tight to the point of pain. Can still remember the taste of metal against your tongue. The feeling of weightlessness. “I–I–I realized. I couldn’t– I couldn’t keep doing that to people. I w–wasn’t strong enough. I’ve always been too w–weak.”

There’s nothing you can do to ever make it up to Argent. The Regenerator is almost finished. Maybe that’ll help, but it can’t take the memory away. And she’s just one person. How many people have you left scattered like discarded candy wrappers across the city? You can’t even begin to guess.

“Oh Ari…” Julia wraps her arm around you, pulling you tighter against her. “That’s not weakness.”

“Yes it is.” You spit back. “I–I–I’m not like you – not human. I’m supposed to be ruthless. Calculating. Goal-oriented. I’m n–n–not supposed to–to–to fall apart because a pretty lady smiles at me.”

“Well that ‘weakness’ of yours is something I’ve always admired about you, Ari.” Julia’s voice is quiet, and you can see the pain on her face reflected in the glass of the balcony door across from the both of you. “You’re an empathic person. That’s… something to cherish, not throw away.”

“You d–d–don’t understand–”

“You realized what you were doing was wrong and you stopped. All on your own. I certainly had no idea. I would never have put you and Argent in the same room if I had known.” Julia shakes her head, after a moment she adds, more quietly; “I don’t know if I’d have been brave enough to do the same, if I’m honest.”

Brave? What’s brave about backing down? Chickening out? She doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand. “Y–you know I was planning to k–k–k–kill you too, right?”

That shuts her up.

“When I decided th–that going back to Los Diablos was my best option. I… I knew that would mean I’d have to face you, and whomever else was still a Ranger.” You twist your fingers into the folds of her shirt. “And I… I made preparations for it. A suit that could keep up with you. Insulated from electricity. Even the nanovores I stole. That was to use on you. Your mods. And Chen’s.”

“You haven’t yet.”

“I c–c–couldn’t do it.” You blink the tears out of your eyes, catch your breath. “How c–c–could I? How c–c–could I ever think you had betrayed me? Had turned me in? After everything we’d d–d–done? Everything you’d done for me?” You swallow back bile, overcome with self-disgust. “I–I had you. I had you in the d–dirt. And I c–c–couldn’t do it. All I could think w–was I was a m–monster, trying to hurt the one person that c–cared about me and I… fuck.”

“Hey…” Julia’s hand rubs your arm. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” Her voice is strained, controlled. Putting on a front for you. Who knows what she’s really thinking. Is she finally starting to understand how messed up you are? How dangerous you are to her?

“Stop it.” You choke back a sob. “Stop saying things are okay when they aren’t.”

“Ari.”

“W–what!?”

“Can I share something with you?”

You take a breath, sniff the snot back up your nose. “What?”

“I didn’t just… lose my mind when we lost you and Themmy, you know. I… gave up. I spent six months back living at my mamá’s house and almost every hour of it drunk. I almost didn’t make it to the funeral service. The service for you two might not even have happened at all, if it hadn’t been for Chen, you know?”

“What?” Why would Chen…?

“I don’t know how he did it, but he even found almost every person that knew you. Not Sidestep, you.” Julia shifts her free arm to rub at her nose. “And I almost ruined the whole thing. Lost it on stage, and then punched out a reporter on camera. If Chen and Mamá hadn’t pushed me to start cleaning up my act, get back to work, I don’t know that I’d be here now. I did a lot of stupid stuff, and I don’t think I’ll ever back able to take it back, you know?”

“I d–don’t–”

“And I’m still not… a hundred percent yet, you know? I still have… nightmares, watching you fall, while I can’t do anything. I thought living through Hood’s death was bad, but at least I had a goal to carry me through.”

“Hollow Ground…?”

She nods. “I got so fixated on her. It… blinded me to everything. And even when I got back, I only focused on it more. I thought… if I couldn’t avenge yours and Themmy’s deaths, I could at least get back at her. And when I found you again, and you said you’d been kidnapped?” There’s a bitter laugh, one she stifles with a hand over her mouth. “I thought, ‘oh, there was a connection.’ So I poured myself into hunting down Hollow Ground even more. And… even now, I’m kicking myself for not doing something sooner, figuring things out sooner, before it ever got this bad.”

You grit your teeth, torn between hurting for Julia and frustration at the comparison. “It–it–it’s not the same thing. You had– you had…”

Julia turns her head, looking down at you with a weak smile. “I had help. Yeah. And you didn’t before. But… you do now, okay? We’ll figure this out. Come up with a new plan. Something better that doesn’t involve… mind control, or you dying.”

“…you’re n–not allowed to die either.”

“Deal.”

You wipe the tears from your eyes, rest your head against her shoulder. “I… guess I should say it? Like… officially?”

That gets you a mystified look. “What are you talking about?”

You drop down into your chest voice, “D–damn you, Charge, you’ve foiled my plans.”

Surprise is replaced with a tired expression. “Is that… really appropriate?”

You frown up at her. “Let me g–get a little fun out of this whole nightmare.”

“All right.” Julia shakes her head, smiling in spite of herself. Her hand finds your face, cupping your cheek. “Your days of villainy are over, Adrestia.”

“It’s all y–y–your fault, Charge. You ruined everything.” You mirror the gesture back at her, your hand cupping her face. “Thank you.”


	64. I know the way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Shangri-La](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddbXUeYxZV8)]

#  Coda

##  I know the way

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“It wasn't that hard. I asked ‘hey, Ari, you want to come with me to the grocery store?’ and you said ‘yeah, sure.’”

“Lies. Slander.”

Julia laughs and elbows you, “Sure, okay. Can you grab the box of cereal down there?”

You frown, scanning the collection of boxes. “You don’t mean the–“

“Yes, the box with the little cartoon me on it.”

You cover your eyes. “I can’t believe you seriously eat your own brand of cereal.”

“Hey now,” Julia cuts in, defensive, “I just mentioned liking it in an interview once and then next thing I know there’s this guy in a three-piece suit standing outside my door. What was I going to say, ‘no thanks, I don’t want the money?’”

You grab the box from the shelf and put it in the cart Julia’s pushing. “It’s not that hard.”

Julia nods in thanks and the two of you move down the aisle. “I’m still dying to know how you made ends meet back in the day. You refused every licensing deal that got offered to you after the ‘surge.”

“I couldn’t join the Rangers, what makes you think I could sign a contract?” You don’t meet her eyes. That had always been a sore point with Steel, wanting to know where you got the money for your suit and tech. Thought you stole it. He’d be right of course, but it was still rude of him to think so. “It’s not like it stopped any of the bastards.”

“All the more reason that you should have signed on, you’d have at least gotten paid for it.” Julia raises her eyebrows at you.

You cross your arms. “I got along just fine, thanks.”

“Uh-huh.” Julia smirks, clearly not buying it. “So who always cleaned out our snack stash every week, again?”

You glare at her silently. You’re not taking the bait. Nope, not doing it.

Mercifully she opts not to push the issue any further for the moment, instead switching tracks; “I think we’re about done, but anything in particular you want me to grab?”

You blink in surprise. “What?” Glance in her direction, try to see what expression is on her face. “Why? These are yours.”

Julia smiles, a quick upturn at the sides of her mouth “Well, you’re coming over often enough now I want to make sure I’ve got something for you.”

“Um….” You putter, stalling for time as you think. Another grocery shopper steps past you without a word going the opposite way down the aisle. Julia frowns at that. “I don’t really need anything, it’s not like I eat much anyway.” You don’t need the charity these days. There’s just always something more important to spend your money on then food.

At least, there used to be.

Julia’s frown only deepens as she turns it to you. You nervously smile back. What did you say wrong now? “Are you feeling okay?” She asks.

You grit your teeth. “Can we have one interaction that doesn’t involve that question? Please?”

For a moment it looks like Julia’s going to press the issue, but then she lets her shoulders slump, sighs. “Alright. You’re right, I don’t want to do this in public. I just– I worry when you talk like that–“

You glare, cutting her off, “I’m not going to– to faint from a sugar crash in the middle of fighting Ricky Davis again or whoever.”

“Razorback.”

You rub your nose, “Yeah, him. What ever happened to that guy?”

“Died a couple years back.” Julia answers, quiet.

“Oh.”

“Lasting complications from injuries during the fight, I think I read. Couldn’t afford the prison’s healthcare.”

“Oh.” You bite your lip, running a hand through your hair, pulling at the tangled strands. It’s gotten bad enough it might be better just cut it short and start over. “I know he was a villain and all, but… always kind of felt bad for the guy.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

In the check out line, there’s always an array of candy bars to tempt impulse buyers. You’ve never gotten out of a grocer without grabbing one.

“Chocolate with Almonds? Good choice,” Julia says from behind you and you freeze, guilty. “Get one for me too?” You pass along the one in your hand to her as she talks to the Cashier and grab a second for yourself. Julia looks back at you and glances at the bar in your hand. “Well? Pass that up here.”

“I can pay for my own candy, Julia.”

“I don’t mind.”

You sigh theatrically, and hand it over. You can’t let her catch on how you really feel about the gesture or she’ll abuse that power and you’ll be drowning in groceries.

Still, when she hands it back after scanning you can’t stop the smile inching across your face. “Th-thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiles back. “Thanks for coming with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone following along with this little fanfic of mine that grew wildly out of control @_@  
> i appreciate you


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